t 


RANGY  PETE 


UNIT.  Or  CAT.IF.  I.TRHAIIY.  I.OS   ANCKT-ES 


RANGY   PETE 


BY 

GUY  MORTON 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPTBIOHT,   1022 

BT  SMALL.  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


THE   MTTBRAT    PRINTING    COMPAITT 
CAMBRIDGE,    MASS. 


RANGY  PETE 


2131406 


Rangy  Pete 

CHAPTER    I 

AN  individual  known  to  all  his  friends  and  to  most 
of  his  enemies  as  Rangy  Pete  sat  with  his  sketchy 
frame  draped  over  an  up-ended  sugar  barrel  in  front 
of  a  building  advertised  to  the  whole  world  as 
"Ike  Collander's  General  Purpus  Store."  One 
glance  at  Rangy  Pete  was  enough  to  convince  the 
most  critical  that,  whatever  else  he  might  be,  he  was 
not  a  misnomer.  A  second  glance  brought  out  the 
lamentable  fact  that  Rangy  Pete  was  totally  indif- 
ferent to  the  liberties  which  Ike  Collander's  adver- 
tising propaganda  took  with  the  language  of  the 
land. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  seemed  quite  fascinated 
by  the  sign,  for  there  was  a  look  of  pride  in  his  eyes 
as  he  continued  to  drape  himself  over  the  sugar 
barrel  and  gaze  aloft  at  this  evidence  of  Ike's  bustling 
business  activity.  While  Rangy  Pete  continued  to 
stare  with  rapt  gaze,  a  dribble  of  crimson  paint 
trickled  from  his  brush  down  over  the  lower  clothing 
of  his  lanky  anatomy  and  ambled  its  way  in  time 
through  a  crack  in  the  upper  face  of  a  box  labeled 

l 


2  RANGY    PETE 

"Evaporated  Apples.     Special.     Merrill,   Snaky  Y 
Ranch." 

When  Rangy  Pete's  artistic  instinct  had  at 
length  been  gratified,  his  gaze  dropped  low  enough 
to  enable  him  to  discover  that  the  paint  was  obeying 
one  of  the  first  laws  of  nature. 

"Jumping  Mavericks!"  he  exclaimed,  "and  that 
box's  for  Rough  House  Dan.  Bet  he'll  say  I  done 
it  apurpos.  Trying  to  pisen  him,  or  something  like 
that." 

Rangy  Pete  doubled  up  his  frame  with  a  jack-knife 
effect,  swabbed  off  as  much  of  the^  paint  as  would 
'  stick  to  his  fingers,  then  he  raised  his  voice  in  unhar- 
monious  volume, 
i    "Hey,  Ike!    Cummere." 

Ike  Collander,  being  unhampered  by  customers, 
and  being  only  half  asleep  at  the  moment  the 
volume  of  noise  reached  his  ears,  lowered  his  feet 
from  the  imitation  counter  and  sauntered  out  in 
the  direction  of  the  familiar  sounds. 

"What  you  bellerin'  about?"  Ike  demanded 
plaintively  as  he  thrust  his  head  out  through  the 
doorway  and  encountered  the  dry  blaze  of  the  sun 
reflected  back  from  an  unnecessarily  dusty  highway. 

"I'm  just  wantin'  to  advise  you,  Ike,  to  learn  to 
patter  your  prayers,"  Ran^y  Pete  remarked  imper- 
turbably,  in  his  wonted  mode  of  conversation.  "  I'm 
thinking  they  ain't  nobody  this  side  the  Twin  Peaks 
what  can  throw  a  peevish  fit  quicker'n  Dan  Merrill. 


RANGY   PETE  3 

He's  got  a  touchy  spot  what  licker  ner  nothing  else 
ain't  been  able  to  wash  outa  him,  so  I'm  thinkin', 
Ike,  if  you  learn  pretty  pronto  to  patter  the  prayers, 
we'll  meet  sometime  in  the  Great  Beyond.  Ain't 
that  what  the  Methody  fellow  said  t'other  night 
down  in  the  tent?" 

Ike  Collander,  knowing  something  of  the  erratic 
ways  of  Rangy  Pete,  did  not  stop  to  ask  the  reason 
of  Pete's  harangue.  Instead,  he  sallied  forth  into 
the  glaring  sun  and  he  began  a  personal  investigation. 

"That's  what  I'm  calling  some  swell  sign,"  Rangy 
Pete  volunteered.  "They  ain't  nobody  else  coulda 
painted  — " 

"But  what's  that  gotta  do  with  Dan  Merrill?" 
Ike  interrupted  impatiently.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say  you  got  me  out  here  in  the  sun  just  to  hear  you 
tell  me  what  a  rum  job  you  made  of  that  sign?" 
Then,  as  Ike's  eyes  dropped  to  the  level  of  Rangy 
Pete's  shoes,  and  as  one  of  the  shoes  shifted,  Ike 
made  a  noise  which  sounded  like  a  gasp.  "You 
tarnation  idyot,"  he  offered  with  emphasis.  "You 
gone  and  daubed  paint  into  Merrill's  evaporated 
apples.  Ain't  you  got  no  better  sense  — " 

"That's  what  we  gonna  talk  over,"  Rangy  Pete 
broke  in,  as  he  fell  back  upon  his  characteristic 
habit  of  tormenting  the  mother  tongue. 

At  the  best,  Rangy 's  selection  of  words  would 
hardly  have  gratified  the  ear  of  an  Oxford  don,  but 
at  the  worst,  in  moments  of  stress,  or  when  a  cal- 


4  RANGY   PETE 

culated  impression  must  be  left  upon  the  ears  of  the 
hearers,  his  mode  was  apt  to  slip  into  a  slurring 
drawl  which  ignored  even  the  rudiments  of  begin- 
nings or  endings.  Just  now  he  chose  to  have  one  of 
his  worst  conversational  lapses. 

"You  ain't  got  no  head  on  you,  Ike,  and  that's 
why  you're  branded  to  die  sudden  some  day.  Take 
this  box  of  apples.  You  know  Rough  House's 
touchy  over  Vaporated  apples,  yet  you  ain't  got 
no  better  head  than  to  leave  the  case  right  out  here 
where  it  gets  in  the  way  of  a  little  bit  of  paint  when 
it  falls  off  my  brush.  Don't  you  know  'at  paint's 
gotta  fall  some  time?  It  can't  stay  up  in  the  air 
like  a  bird.  I'd  a  thought  you'd  a  knowed  that,  Ike. 
I'd  a  thought  you'd  take  some  care  of  Dan  Merrill's 
stuff.  You  heard  often  enough  'at  he  likes  Vaporated 
apples  fit  to  kill  - 

Rangy 's  dissertation  came  to  a  close  because  of 
an  angry  gurgle  in  Ike  Collander's  throat. 

"I  might  a  knowed  better'n  to  hire  a  good-for- 
nothing  long  leg  like  you,"  Ike  reproached  himself. 
"If  I'd  a  had  any  sense  I  wouldn't  a  kept  you  round 
here  longer'n  a  minute.  And  now  you  wanta  blame 
me  fer»  that  box  getting  all  daubed  up." 

"You  shore  don't  think  you  ain't  to  blame?" 
Rangy  Pete  demanded  in  astonishment.  "You  ain't 
gonna  say  next  'at  I  put  the  box  there,  are  you? 
Shorely  you  got  a  little  spark  of  honesty  in  you 
summers,  Ike.  Tell  me,  Ike,  that  you  got  a  little 


RANGY    PETE  5 

honest  feeling  right  now.  I  don't  think  I  could  go 
on  living  — " 

Rangy  Pete's  plaint  was  submerged  in  a  greater 
volume  of  noise  which  came  from  Ike's  throat. 

"We  gotta  do  something  about  it,  I'm  telling  you. 
We  gotta  do  something  - 

When  Ike  Collander  had  repeated  the  phrases  a 
number  of  times,  so  often  that  his  voice  had  lost 
the  edge  of  its  asperity,  Rangy  Pete  chimed  in. 

"That's  what  I  been  tellin'  you  all  along.  I  sorta 
thought  it  might  be  best  if  you  pattered  some 
prayers,  Ike.  I'm  knowin'  you  can't  think  of  any 
yourself,  but  if  we  went  down  to  that  Methody 
gospel-flail's  tent,  he  might  - 

"Shut  up,"  Collander  replied  with  more  self- 
control.  "Merrill's  coming  in  this  afternoon  for  a 
load  of  stuff,  and  I'm  telling  you  we  gotta  do  some- 
thing. He's  all-fired  particular  about  these  evap- 
orated apples  what's  been  coining  in  from  the  East. 
You'd  think  they's  boxes  of  booze,  the  way  he  hugs 
'em.  He  don't  drink  much  red  licker,  that  boy,  but 
he's  sure  got  the  evaporated  apple  habit." 

"You're  saying  something,  Ike,"  Rangy  Pete 
supplemented,  as  he  began  to  roll  a  cigarette. 
"They  tell  me  the  apple  habit's  worse'n  dope.  It 
sorta  get's  you  till  you  can't  leave  the  house  for  two 
minutes  unless  you  got  a  piece  of  'vaporated  apple 
in  your  pocket.  They  tell  me  it  don't  act  the  same 
on  all  men;  but  it  ain't  made  Rough  House  Dan  any 


6  RANGY    PETE 

more  like  a  suckin'  calf.  He's  got  a  tongue  like  a 
snake,  and  he's  the  boy  what  knows  how  to  handle 
a  quirt.  If  you  ain't  got  no  objections,  Ike,  I'm 
thinkin'  I'll  go  for  a  ride  this  afternoon.  Since  you've 
fired  me,  I'll  drop  over  to  the  Double  K  and  see  if 
they've  got  any  use  for  another  puncher." 

"I  ain't  fired  you,"  Ike  snapped  out.  "We  gotta 
do  something,  and  we  ain't  got  all  day  to  do  it." 

"S'pose  we  swab  the  box  down  with  a  pail  of 
water,"  Rangy  Pete  offered.  "I'll  sit  here  and  watch 
you  do  it.  You  ain't  much  use,  Ike,  but  surely  you 
know  enough  to  sling  some  water  on  that  paint  spot. 
I'll  tell  you  how  to  do  it." 

"Yeah,"  Ike  leered.  "You  don't  catch  me  that 
way.  You  know  the  water'd  run  inside,  and  the 
apples'd  swell  up  and  bust  the  box." 

"That's  right,  Ike,  so  they  would.  We  got  a  big 
job  on  our  hands.  You  might  tell  Rough  House  Dan 
that  it's  blood.  You  could  say  you  shot  a  road 
agent  last  night  when  he's  trying  to  steal  the  box. 
That'd  put  you  in  right.  Dan's  suspected  all  along 
'at  you'd  horn  into  a  fight  fer  him  any  ole  time  you 
got  haffa  chance,  so  if  you  told  him  that's  blood  - 

"Who  ain't  got  no  head  now?"  Ike  intercepted 
the  flow  of  words  in  an  aggrieved  tone.  "  He  wouldn't 
believe  it.  'Sides,  any  fool  knows  blood  from  paint. 
An'  they  ain't  been  no  road  agents  around  this  way 
fer  months.  They  ain't  been  within  thirty  miles  of 
Triple  Butte,  and  you  know  it,  Rangy  Pete,  so 


RANGY    PETE  7 

whyn't  you  think  of  something  what's  got  some 
sense  in  it?" 

"Thirty  mile  ain't  so  much,"  Rangy  Pete  reflected. 
(  'Sides,  you  said  something  hadda  be  done.  I  could 
write  you  a  note,  signin'  Dervish  Dick's  name  to  it, 
and  I  could  make  it  look  like  the  real  thing.  I'd 
put  a  bloody  cross  on  top  of  it,  and  I'd  say,  'You 
plugged  me  last  night,  Ike  Collander,  but  I'm  a 
gonna  git  you  if  I  haveta  swim  in  blood  to  do  it.' 
That'd  make  Rough  House  Dan  open  his  eyes,  and 
perhaps,  Ike  — " 

"No  more  perhapsing,"  Ike  Collander  insisted, 
with  diminishing  patience.  "You  know  nobody 
wouldn't  believe  me  when  I  told  them  I  put  up  a 
fight." 

Rangy  Pete  slipped  down  off  the  barrel  with  a 
sigh  of  resignation. 

"Now  you're  talkin'  like  somebody  who  knows 
your  father's  little  boy,"  Pete  rejoined  as  he  bent 
over  and  lifted  the  box  of  evaporated  apples  and 
placed  it  upon  the  sugar  barrel  where  it  came  more 
nearly  within  his  range  of  vision.  "Ike,  you're  like 
a  swaddled  kid.  You  gotta  have  somebody  running 
after  you  alia  time.  If  it  wasn't  fer  me,  I  s'pose 
Rough  House  Dan  'd  soon  be  wrappin'  his  quirt 
around  your  legs  to  keep  you  from  catchin'  sunburn 
through  that  hole  in  your  pants.  You're  a  shiftless 
cuss,  Ike,  but  if  I  gotta  do  all  the  thinkin',  I  s'pose 
I  gotta.  A  kid  coulda  told  you  what  to  do  long  ago." 


8  RANGY    PKTF, 

Ike  Collander's  eyes  had  been  instinctively  watch- 
ing the  dusty  trail  ambling  its  way  between  the 
two  rows  of  buildings  which  went  by  the  name  of 
Triple  Butte,  and  as  his  eyes  followed  that  fniil 
they  eventually  came  up  against  a  dead,  monochrome 
wall  of  nothingness  representing  a  point  in  the 
distance  where  earth  and  sky  and  dust  and  hazy 
sunshine  all  blended  into  one.  .Ordinarily,  on  a  day 
like  this,  when  the  world  merely  seemed  to  drone 
along  under  a  blistering  sun,  that  dull  grayness  was 
all  Ike  Collander's  eyes  would  see  when  they  studied 
the  trail  leading  out  to  the  Snaky  Y  Ranch. 

But  now  there  was  a  fleck  of  activity  in  the  gray 
distance  which  caused  Ike  to  step  out  into  the 
dusty  trail  and  stare  into  the  west,  with  his  eyes 
shaded  from  the  glare  of  the  sun.  Rangy  Pete's 
eyes  followed  in  the  same  direction,  but  without 
keen  interest. 

"  'Tain't  nothing  but  a  few  horses  kicking  up  a 
cloud  of  dust,"  Pete  informed.  '  'Sfunny,  Ike,  that 
you  been  here  ten  years  and  you  ain't  never  afore 
seen  a  horse  kickin'  up  the  dust.  I  bet  they's  some 
men  on  the  horses'  backs,  and  if  little  Ike'll  come 
up  here  and  be  good,  daddy'll  show  him  a  purty 
man  riding  a  horse.  Now  won't  that  be  nice?" 

Ike  Collander  returned  to  the  front  of  the  store. 
He  appeared  to  be  keen  to  say  something  to  Rangy 
Pete,  but  it  was  the  greater  part  of  a  minute  before 
he  could  get  his  lips  and  his  tongue  under  control. 


RANGY    PETE  9 

"You're  fired,  blast  you.  You're  fired,"  Ike's 
first  words  poured  out  in  a  stream.  "I  ain't  gonna 
have  no  impertinent  luminux  like  you  hangin' 
around  here  no  more.  You  git  out,  and  stay  out." 
"Thanks,  Ike,"  Rangy  Pete  replied,  with  unruffled 
voice.  "Lend  me  the  makings,  and  I'll  be  sifting 
along.  I  just  about  got  time  to  decorate  Triple  Butte 
with  my  absence  afore  Dan  Merrill  gets  here.  Don't 
forget,  Ike,  to  tell  him  'at's  blood  on  the  'vaporated 
apples.  If  I's  you,  I'd  put  salt  and  water  on  them 
quirt  marks  you're  gonna  get.  It'll  hurt  a  bit  at 
first,  but  it'll  take  the  soreness  out  in  no  time. 
That's  what  we  do  with  the  critters." 

"Here's  the  makings,  Rangy,  and  you  ain't 
fired,"  Collander  replied  hurriedly.  "I  didn't  mean 
nothin'  what  I  said.  We  gotta  stand  together,  Pete. 
What's  that  you  said  awhile  ago  about  knowin' 
whata  do  with  these  apples?" 

Rangy  Pete  looked  past  Ike  Collander's  head,  and 
the  faintest  suggestion  of  interest  came  into  his 
manner  as  he  stared  out  along  the  Snaky  Y  trail 
in  the  direction  of  the  approaching  dust  cloud. 
Rangy  shaded  his  eyes  from  the  sun,  as  Collander 
had  done,  then  he  held  one  hand  in  front  of  him, 
as  though  taking  sight  along  some  imaginary  line. 

"I'll  be  smoked  if  that  ain't  funny,"  Rangy  Pete 
commented.  "Whatta  you  see  out  there  along  the 
trail,  Ike?" 

"Nothing  but  something  we  gotta  hurry  about," 


10  RANGY    PETE 

Collander  returned  crustily.  "It's  Merrill  or  some 
of  his  punchers  riding  in." 

"Perhaps,  and  then  perhaps  not,"  Rangy  Pete 
reflected  aloud.  "They  ain't  been  no  windstorm 
fer  a  month,  an'  that  means  the  Snaky  Y  trail 
couldn't  a  jumped  up  over  night  and  lit  down  so 
far  to  the  south.  The  Snaky  Y  bunch'd  have  to 
climb  the  Yellow  Butte  to  come  in  thatta  way,  and 
they  ain't  gonna  climb  no  buttes  when  they  don't 
haveta." 

"It  don't  matter.  Merrill  said  he's  coming  today 
to  get  this  box  of  evaporated  apples,  and  that's 
him." 

'  'Sfunny.  Whole  bunch  of  cowpunchers  chasm' 
around  after  'vaporated  apples." 

"Nothing  funny  about  it.  Now  tell  me  what 
we're  gonna  do." 

"Oh,  yah,"  Pete  replied.  "Now,  'spose  you  use 
them  holes  in  yer  head  what  some  people  calls  eyes. 
They's  a  box  in  front  of  you,  and  it's  got  a  tag  on 
it  what  shows  that  somebody  back  East  has  shipped 
a  case  of  'vaporated  apples  to  one  Dan  Merrill  of 
the  Snaky  Y  ranch.  'Cept  fer  that  tag,  I  don't  see 
that  they's  any  difference  between  that  box  and  the 
boxes  what  you  got  back  ahind  the  counter." 

"Gosh,  Pete,  but  you  gotta  head,"  Ike  exclaimed 
in  appreciation. 

"  Most  people's  got  a  head,  but  'tain't  everybody 
knows  what  a  head's  for,"  Pete  rejoined.  "All  you 


RANGY    PETE  11 

gotta  do,  Ike,  is  slip  the  point  of  a  screwdriver  under 
the  tacks  what's  holding  down  this  tag,  then  if  it 
sorta  jumps  over  onto  one  of  your  own  boxes,  you 
can't  help  that  none.  You  trades  boxes  and  he 
keeps  the  tag.  They  ain't  nothing  unfair  in  that." 

"Unless  them  apples  of  his  does  happen  to  be 
special  extra  — " 

"Won't  yours  be  special  too  when  they  get  that 
tag  on  'em?  You  should  a  knowed,  Ike,  'at  it  ain't 
the  apples  what  makes  'em  special.  It's  the  tag. 
Now  cummon.  That  dust  cloud'll  be  here  in  about 
ten  minutes." 

Ike  Collander  required  no  further  stimulus.  He 
produced  the  essential  implements  of  the  hardware 
trade  and  while  Rangy  Pete  leaned  against  a  hitching 
post  and  proved  most  generous  in  the  flow  and 
range  of  his  advice,  he  hurriedly  transferred  the 
shipping  tag  from  Merrill's  box  to  one  of  his  own, 
which,  to  all  external  appearances,  was  an  exact 
duplicate.  With  the  transfer  made,  he  left  the  box 
bearing  the  Merrill  tag  upon  the  top  of  the  sugar 
barrel,  while  he  removed  the  paint-marked  box  to 
an  inner  portion  of  the  ramshackle  store  which  he 
commonly  dignified  by  the  term  "storeroom." 

Ike  brushed  away  the  signs  of  toil,  Rangy  Pete 
shifted  the  paint  pot  to  the  shady  side  of  the  building, 
and  as  the  cloud  of  horsemen  reached  the  first  shack 
of  Triple  Butte  the  two  men  sat  down  in  the  doorway 
of  the  "General  Purpus"  store  to  await  their  coming. 


12  RANGY    PETE 

Rangy  Pete's  gaze  wandered  up  the  dusty  trail, 
but  apart  from  the  life  represented  by  that  dust- 
cloud,  Triple  Butte  had  but  little  to  interest  even 
Rangy 's  listless  gaze.  There  were  two  or  three 
dejected  bronchos  standing  with  drooping  heads  in 
front  of  the  saloon  across  the  way;  there  were  other 
horses  in  the  corral,  and  there  was  an  intermittent 
sound  from  the  saloon  itself  which  Rangy  recognized 
as  an  indeterminate  effort  on  the  part  of  Shifty  Lizz 
to  coax  musical  sounds  from  the  only  piano  in  Triple 
Butte.  Shifty  Lizz  was  a  female,  and  for  the  lack  of 
anything  better  she  was  sometimes  regarded  as  one 
of  the  attractions  about  Tony  Burke's  saloon,  tlic 
degree  of  her  charms  being  regulated  pro  rata  to  the 
amount  of  Tony's  liquor  which  had  filmed  the 
kof  the  attraction  hunter. 

Shifty  had  won  her  prefix  from  the  rapid  manner 
in  which  she  had  once  disposed  of  a  brash  cow- 
puncher  who  had  fancied  that  the  eating  room  of 
Tony  Burke's  "Mansion  House"  was  the  proper 
place  in  which  to  display  his  affections  for  Lizz. 
At  the  moment  Shifty  Lizz  had  been  rounding  up 
fodder  for  a  number  of  Tony's  guests,  but  in  the 
heat  of  the  moment  it  was  all  shifted  with  such 
remarkable  dexterity  that  it  landed  upon  various 
weak  points  in  the  cowboy's  anatomy.  Since  that 
time  it  had  been  quite  possible  for  Shifty  Lizz  to 
while  away  an  idle  hour  in  the  barroom  for  the  mak- 
ing of  such  noises  as  now  reached  the  ear  of  Rangy 


RANGY    PETE  13 

Pete  without  the  slightest  fear  of  amorous  approach 
on  the  part  of  any  but  the  most  utter  stranger. 

Now,  Rangy  Pete  wished  that  the  brash  cow- 
puncher  had  not  brought  this  punishment  upon 
Triple  Butte.  He  experienced  a  keen  feeling  of 
grievance  against  the  absent  puncher,  and  that, 
combined  with  the  heat  of  the  day,  made  him  sud- 
denly wish  that  the  amorous  one  might  be  in  Merrill's 
party. 

Rangy  Pete  was  suddenly  roused  from  his  vin- 
dictive mood  by  the  voice  of  Ike  Collander. 

"They're  makin'  an  awful  lot  of  dust,  an'  Merrill 
don't  ride  so  fast  as  that  on  a  hot  day." 

"Yeah.  Keep  it  up.  Keep  on  yammering," 
Rangy  Pete  returned  peevishly.  "Ain't  you  got 
nothin'  to  do  all  day  but  sit  there  and  yammer  about 
nothin'  atoll?  This  ain't  no  exhortin'  meeting  down 
at  the  Methody  tent.  Ain't  you  never  gonna  learn 
to  sit  still  a  minute  and  keep  your  mouth  shut  like 
me?" 

"Like  you?"  Ike  flared  at  some  indignity  which 
he  appeared  to  find  in  Rangy 's  words.  "I'm  thankin' 
all  the  saints  I  ever  heard  of  that  I  ain't  like  you. 
Look  at  the  mess  you  near  got  us  into  - 

"Me  get  you  into  a  mess,"  Rangy  returned  with 
reproach.  "If  they  was  ever  a  more  ongrateful 
critter  runnm'  around  without  a  brand  than  you  be, 
Ike,  I'd  like  to  see  it.  Ain't  I  been  a  punishin'  my 
brains  to  get  you  outa  the  scrape  you  got  into  by 


14  RANGY   PETE 

leaving  them  Vaporated  apples  right  where  the 
paint'd  fall  on  them?  Ain't  I  got  you  out  of  a  hole, 
I'm  asking?  An'  you  got  nothing  to  do  but  sit  there 
and  yammer  - 

Rangy  Pete  paused  because  of  the  striking  lack 
of  interest  on  the  part  of  his  audience.  Far  from 
displaying  the  necessary  amount  of  umbrage,  Ike 
had  abruptly  seized  his  associate  by  the  arm  and 
he  was  going  through  a  gasping  motion.  Collander's 
eyes  were  rolling,  as  though  from  fright  or  the 
effects  of  the  sun,  and  his  lips  were  stammering. 

"Try  a  hot  pebble  in  the  mouth,"  Rangy  Pete 
suggested.  "It  sometimes  helps - 

Then  Rangy's  eyes  followed  Ike's  dramatic 
gesture,  and  he  committed  the  unusual  offence  of 
stopping  half  way  through  an  idea. 

"Gosh  A'mighty!"  Pete  exclaimed  for  the  second 
time  that  day,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  faces  of  the 
approaching  riders. 

For  even  a  hundred  yards  distant  he  could  see 
that  across  the  face  of  each  mounted  man  there  was 
a  dull,  grayish  bandage  which  covered  the  eyes  and 
ran  well  up  to  the  hat  band  and  down  to  the  tip  of 
the  nose. 

"They're  r-r-road  a-agents,"  Ike  Collander  put 
his  gasping  into  words.  "An*  I  gotta  get  outa  here. 
I  got  ten  dollars  - 

Ike  made  a  movement  as  though  to  rise,  but 
Rangy  Pete  put  out  a  hand  and  returned  him  to  his 


RANGY    PETE  15 

former  position  with  the  ease  of  one  handling  a  child. 

"Ain't  you  got  no  sense  atoll?"  Rangy  asked. 
"Don't  you  know  road  agents  shoot  on  sight  when 
they  see  a  coyote  takin'  to  cover  thatta  way?  They 
oughtn't  to  wear  them  eye  blankets,  fer  no  man  can 
shoot  straight  with  a  thing  like  that  over  his  face. 
They'd  be  just  as  apt  to  hit  me  as  you  - 

Any  further  wisdom  which  Rangy  Pete  may 
have  intended  to  impart  to  Collander  was  drowned 
in  the  clatter  of  hoofs  and  the  whir  of  noise  as  the 
troupe  slithered  to  a  halt  across  the  roadway,  with 
two  horsemen  facing  Ike  Collander's  store  and  with 
the  balance  taking  an  interest  in  Tony  Burke's 
saloon.  With  a  medley  of  fright,  Shifty  Lizz' 
strumming  at  the  musical  fount  of  Triple  Butte 
came  to  an  abrupt  end.  The  sound  of  voices  died 
away,  and  for  a  space  of  ten  seconds  or  more  there 
was  the  absolute  calm  of  utter  desolation. 

Rangy  Pete  felt  that  Triple  Butte  had  auto- 
matically wakened  to  the  presence  of  the  road 
agents  and  that  this  unnatural  silence  was  but  the 
armistice  through  which  the  leading  citizens  delib- 
erated with  themselves  whether  or  not  it  were 
flirting  with  the  Great  Beyond  to  give  battle  to  the 
diminutive  army  of  Dervisher  Dick.  So  Rangy's 
eyes  darted  here  and  there,  to  every  opening  in  the 
walls  of  Tony  Burke's  fragile  castle.  For  if  there 
were  to  be  battle,  it  would  come  from  Tony's  place. 
If  Triple  Butte  ever  swaggered,  it  was  through  the 


16  RANGY    PETE 

front  doorway  of  Tony's  saloon,  and  at  this  particular 
moment  the  decision  of  battle  or  of  peace  would 
depend  entirely  upon  the  assortment  of  individuals 
who  happened  to  be  hugging  Tony's  bar,  and  also 
upon  the  state  of  their  liquid  mellowness. 

As  Rangy  Pete  sat  through  those  seconds,  he 
tried  to  recall  just  whom  he  had  seen  enter  the  saloon 
through  the  past  hour.  There  were  none  of  the 
Snaky  Y  boys,  for  Merrill's  party  was  still  due  to 
arrive.  And  there  couldn't  be  any  of  the  Double  K 
punchers,  or  the  battle  would  have  been  on  before 
this.  And  there  wasn't  Sheriff  Stipples,  for  Stipples 
had  ridden  away  in  the  opposite  direction  shortly 
after  daylight. 

Rangy  Pete  sighed  before  the  ten  seconds  were  up. 
The  most  formidable  of  Triple  Butte's  defences 
would  be  Shifty  Lizz,  and  Shifty,  he  could  see,  had 
regained  her  composure,  for  she  was  already  grinning 
through  the  open  window  at  Dervisher  Dick. 

With  a  gesture  to  his  men,  Dervisher  Dick  sprang 
to  the  dusty  highway,  and  with  a  pistol  in  either 
hand  he  walked  briskly  through  the  doorway  of 
the  saloon. 

The  hands  of  the  road  agents,  Rangy  Pete  could 
see,  were  bristling  with  revolvers,  but  whatever 
happened  to  be  going  on  behind  their  eyes  was 
totally  concealed  by  the  masks.  As  Rangy  stared, 
he  fancied  that  the  lips  of  one  of  the  riders  facing 
Collander's  store  parted  with  the  suggestion  of  a  smile. 


RANGY    PETE  17 

Rangy  promptly  grinned  in  return. 

''Hands  up,  you  long  string  of  horse-hide,"  the 
man  bellowed,  with  a  flourish  of  one  of  his  revolvers. 
"Don't  think  you  can  set  there  grinnin'  at  me." 

Rangy  Pete's  arms  stretched  into  the  air  for  a 
surprising  distance,  but  he  did  not  take  the  trouble 
to  move  from  his  sitting  position  in  the  doorway. 

"  'Twan't  you  I  was  grinnin'  at,"  Rangy  returned 
in  an  aggrieved  manner.  "I  sorta  smiled  at  that 
handsome  person  at  your  side.  He  makes  me  think 
of  my  long-lost  brother." 

"Swallow  the  chatter,"  the  road  agent  elevated 
his  voice  still  more,  "And  you  too,  you  little  fat 
toad.  Get  on  your  feet.  Don't  set  there  like  a  pair 
of  dead  coyotes.  Reach  for  the  stars,  you  long  drink 
of  water.  Reach  for  'em.  Pick  'em  out.  Hand  me 
that  big  green  one  what  sits  on  top  of  the  North 
Pole." 

Ike  Collander  sprang  to  his  feet  with  surprising 
alacrity,  and  Rangy  Pete  ambled  into  a  standing 
position,  with  his  hands  thrust  high  above  his  head. 

"I'm  tellin'  you,  Mister,  this  ain't  no  comfortable 
way  to  stand,"  Rangy  found  his  voice  in  protest. 
"An*  I  ain't  gonna  pick  no  stars  'cause  I  once  got 
some  star  slivers  in  my  fingers  a-doin'  this,  and  it 
ain't  no  fun  gettin'  'em  out  again." 

"Higher!  Higher!  Reach  up  and  hand  me  down 
Ike  Collander 's  chimbley." 

"I  can't  go  no  higher,  Mister,"  Rangy  protested. 


18  RANGY   PETE 

"You  otta  know  that.  Can't  you  see  I  broke  my 
suspenders  a  reaching  fer  them  stars,  an'  I  got  human 
feelings  - 

Immediate  diversion  to  the  road  agent's  mood 
came  in  the  form  of  a  bellowing  noise  from  the  door 
of  Tony's  saloon.  The  sound  came  from  Dervisher 
Dick  who  was  herding  the  full  human  contents  of 
the  barroom  out  into  the  street  at  the  points  of 
two  revolvers,  and  who,  at  the  same  time,  was  inviting 
his  troupe  inside  to  enjoy  the  enforced  hospitality 
of  Tony  Burke. 

There  appeared  to  be  the  discipline  of  system  in 
Dervisher  Dick's  party,  for  instantly,  without 
definite  instructions,  the  complete  troupe,  with  the 
exception  of  two  riders,  disappeared  through  the 
saloon  doorway  and  instantly  there  came  back  the 
sounds  of  revelry  among  the  breaking  bottles. 

Two  riders  still  sat  their  horses  in  the  dusty 
highway.  One  stood  guard  over  many  of  the  leading 
citizens  of  Triple  Butte  who  were  clustered  con- 
veniently in  a  sunny  little  nook  in  front  of  the 
saloon.  The  other  loomed  up  in  front  of  Rangy  Pete 
and  Ike  Collander.  As  for  the  rest  of  Triple  Butte, 
there  was  not  so  much  as  a  toddling  child  to  be 
seen  for  the  full  length  of  its  one  dusty  highway. 
Triple  Butte,  it  became  evident  to  Rangy  Pete, 
though  personally  unfamiliar  with  the  habits  of 
road  agents,  had  listened  to  the  stories  which  had 
recently  come  out  of  the  south  about  Dervisher  Dick, 


RANGY    PETE  19 

and  was  quite  willing  to  give  him  full  credit  for  a 
violent  disposition  without  putting  the  rumor  to  the 
test. 

The  little  cluster  of  citizens  across  the  highway 
appeared  to  be  in  much  the  same  mood.  Rangy 
looked  across,  past  the  two  road  agents,  and  some- 
thing in  the  pose  of  Triple  Butte's  leading  citizenry 
seemed  to  appeal  to  his  sense  of  humor. 

There  was  Tony  Burke,  lean,  wiry,  dark  of  coun- 
tenance, though  just  now  growing  increasingly  red 
because  of  the  flame  of  the  sun  and  that  steady 
sound  of  cracking  bottles  from  the  interior.  There 
was  Rummy  Lister,  Tony's  right-hand  man,  some- 
times known  in  more  polite  circles  as  a  bouncer, 
and  always  known  in  Triple  Butte  as  the  one-on-the- 
house  man  whenever  the  courage  of  the  guests 
seemed  to  flag.  There  was  Lefty  Merker,  the 
set-'em-up  man,  who  constantly  held  forth  behind 
Burke's  bar,  and  who  had  won  the  first  half  of  his 
name  because  of  the  unusual  habit  of  wearing  a  gun 
where  the  left  hand  could  reach  it  the  most  con- 
veniently. Lefty,  it  was  rumored,  had  once  "potted" 
an  impertinent  stranger,  and  because  of  this  peculiar 
arrangement  of  his  armament  he  had  not  even 
stopped  the  serving  of  liquor  with  the  other  hand. 
Lefty  was  supposed  to  possess  a  bull-dog  brand  of 
courage,  and  until  this  particular  moment  Rangy 
Pete  had  never  been  given  cause  to  suspect  that  the 
breed  had  been  crossed  with  any  less  warlike  strain. 


20  RANGY    PETE 

There  was  Buck  Menzie,  the  stage-driver  who  had 
taken  a  day  off;  there  was  Lonzo  Rafters,  who  catered 
to  the  public  in  direct  opposition  to  Ike  Collander; 
and  there  were  a  half  dozen  other  dwellers  of  Triple 
Butte,  less  fiery  but  not  less  bibulous  in  disposition. 
But  there  was  no  Shifty  Lizz. 

A  grin  came  to  Rangy  Pete's  lips  as  his  glance 
strayed  over  the  inartistic  group  of  citizens.  Then 
his  eyes  crossed  those  of  Tony  Burke  and  he  found 
there  an  encouragement  to  battle. 

That  started  Rangy  Pete  upon  a  new  line  of 
thought  which  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
humor.  He  looked  back  at  Tony  Burke,  and  he  saw 
that  Tony's  eyes  traveled  deliberately  to  the  gun 
at  Pete's  hip,  then  to  the  rider  standing  guard 
over  Collander's  store,  then  back  to  the  second 
rider. 

Quite  plainly,  Tony  Burke  was  giving  his  mute 
instructions.  He  was  suggesting  that  if  Rangy  Pete 
would  only  start  something,  he  would  join  in. 

While  the  revelry  across  the  way  grew  in  intensity, 
Rangy  Pete  began  to  reflect.  First  of  all,  why  should 
Dervisher  Dick  have  led  his  troupe  into  Triple 
Butte?  So  far  as  Rangy  knew,  the  accumulated 
wealth  of  Triple  Butte  could  hardly  have  been 
gratifying  to  the  Dervishers.  And  as  yet,  while  the 
road  agents  had  done  a  number  of  things  which 
would  not  win  them  many  lasting  friendships,  there 
had  been  no  systematic  attempt  to  collect  wealth. 


RANGY    PETE  21 

Doubtless  they  would  already  have  looted  the  faro 
and  other  gambling  outfits  which  were  the  rear 
auxiliary  of  Tony's  establishment,  but  Rangy  had 
reason  to  know  that  there  was  but  little  gold  to  be 
rifled  there.  It  was  the  off  season  for  punchers,  and 
strangers  had  been  scattered  of  late.  Dervisher  Dick 
should  also  have  known  that.  Further,  the  road 
agents  had  not  even  taken  the  trouble  to  deprive 
the  citizens  of  their  accustomed  weapons.  But  that, 
Rangy  Pete  knew,  was  the  way  with  the  Dervishers. 
It  was  the  kind  of  daring  they  favored. 

But  now,  as  Rangy  reflected,  he  wondered  just 
what  the  Dervishers  could  hope  to  gain  from  Triple 
Butte.  Of  course,  there  was  the  establishment  of 
Burk  Laxton,  the  private  banker,  down  the  street; 
but  Laxton,  Pete  knew,  had  a  safe  which  road  agents 
could  neither  crack  nor  carry  away.  Further  than 
that,  Laxton  had  been  absent  for  a  week,  so  no 
amount  of  compulsion  could  force  a  way  into  the 
doubtful  treasures  of  that  safety  vault. 

Rangy  Pete  leaned  back  and  rested  his  arms 
against  the  side  of  Ike  Collander's  store. 

Fight?  It  could  be  done.  But  what  was  the  use? 
There  was  nothing  at  stake.  There  was  not  the 
first  reason  in  the  world  why  he  should  put  up  a 
fight,  not  a  reason,  except  that  challenge  which 
flashed  out  of  Tony  Burke's  red  face. 

Tony  had  southern  blood  somewhere  in  his  veins, 
and  it  was  plain  to  Rangy  Pete  that  there  was 


22  RANGY    PETE 

something  in  the  situation  which  did  not  calm  that 
warm  strain  in  the  proprietor  of  the  Mansion  House. 
Perhaps  Tony  had  more  funds  in  the  faro  layout 
than  Pete  imagined. 

The  message  in  Tony's  eyes  was  undoubted  now. 
It  was  an  appeal.  In  it,  as  well,  there  was  a  smack 
of  flattery.  It  seemed  to  leap  across  the  intervening 
space  and  say  that  the  citizens  of  Triple  Butte  had 
more  confidence  in  Rangy  Pete  than  they  had  in 
themselves. 

Rangy's  eyes  left  the  huddled  group  of  citizens 
and  they  drifted  aimlessly  to  the  figure  of  the 
mounted  rider.  As  Rangy  looked,  the  other's  eyes 
snapped  back  to  his  face,  but  that  change  on  the 
part  of  the  mounted  rider,  swift  as  it  had  been, 
was  enough  to  tell  Rangy  Pete  that  Dervisher  Dick 
had  made  a  mistake  in  the  man  he  had  left  upon 
guard.  It  told  him  further  that  the  rider  had  not 
been  watching  him,  Rangy  Pete,  but  that  he  had 
been  watching  something  else,  perhaps  Ike  Collander, 
perhaps  something  farther  down  the  street.  And 
if  the  man's  eyes  left  him  once,  they  would  leave 
him  again.  The  longer  that  revelry  continued  across 
the  street,  the  more  difficult  it  would  be  for  the 
rider  to  keep  his  glance  fixed  upon  any  one  point 
—  and  men  long  ago  had  learned  that  it  might  not 
be  entirely  safe  to  allow  the  eyes  to  wander  when 
looking  at  Rangy  Pete  in  a  serious  way. 

Rangy  Pete  chuckled  inwardly,  though  outwardly 


RANGY   PETE  23 

there  was  not  the  least  flicker  of  change  upon  his 
leathery  features.  Pete  believed  he  had  left  off 
gun-fighting,  but  there  was  something  in  this  situa- 
tion which  recalled  to  him  the  old  fever  of  battle. 
It  was  an  itch  creeping  through  his  blood;  it  was  a 
reawakening  of  the  past;  it  was  a  cry  of  the  brain 
which  seemed  to  say  that  out  of  the  great  mass  of 
the  world's  affairs  the  only  thing  which  mattered 
at  this  particular  moment  was  for  him  to  test  whether 
or  not  he  had  lost  any  of  the  old  swiftness  of  finger. 

In  a  flash  there  came  to  him  the  whole  plan  for 
the  overthrow  of  the  Dervishers.  And  it  could  be 
done  with  comparative  safety  to  Triple  Butte. 
There  would  be  a  few  bullet  holes  in  Triple  Butte, 
and  perhaps  some  in  her  citizens,  but  that  would 
not  matter. 

Two  of  the  road  agents  came  through  the  doorway 
of  the  Mansion  House  with  glasses  of  liquor  still 
clasped  in  their  hands. 

"Here's  to  yer  health,  my  purty  birds,"  one  of 
the  men  laughed  loudly  and  waved  his  glass  in  the 
direction  of  the  huddled  citizenry.  "Drink  to  'em, 
Smooch.  Drink  to  'em  hearty,  'cause  maybe  we 
won't  be  comin'  back  this  way  so  soon." 

The  road  agents  drank,  threw  the  empty  glasses 
into  the  group  of  prisoners,  walked  to  the  horses, 
and  with  a  standing  leap  sprang  to  the  animals' 
backs.  Then,  with  a  twirl  of  their  quirts,  they 
spurred  their  mounts  and  dashed  down  the  roadway 


?4  RANGY    PETE 

in   the  direction   of  Burk   Laxton's   private  bank. 

"Won't  get  nothin'  there,"  Rangy  Pete  com- 
mented to  himself.  "Two  of  'em  gone.  That'll 
make  it  all  the  easier." 

Rangy  Pete  saw  the  whole  plan  now. 

The  next  time  his  guard's  eyes  left  him,  Dervisher 
Dick's  crew  would  think  the  war  of  Armageddon 
had  hit  them. 

So  Rangy  Pete  looked  across  the  dusty  highway 
of  Triple  Butte  and  he  winked  slowly  at  Tony  Burke. 
That  individual  winked  back  in  understanding. 

To  the  best  of  Pete's  memory  there  were  ten  of 
the  Dervishers  to  be  disposed  of.  There  were  two 
on  their  way  to  Laxton's;  there  were  two  here  in 
the  roadway,  and  there  were  six  in  the  saloon 
beyond,  disposing  of  liquid  refreshments  in  a  manner 
which  Lefty  Merker  could  never  approve  of. 

Rangy  Pete's  arms  were  still  stretched  above  his 
head,  sagging  somewhat  now,  and  resting  against 
the  clapboard  building.  At  his  right  hip  was  a 
derringer.  Inside,  on  the  wall  of  Ike  Collander's 
emporium,  was  a  Winchester. 

That  was  all  quite  as  it  should  be.  For  long  ago 
Rangy  Pete  had  anticipated  the  moment  when  he 
might  find  himself  in  just  such  an  unheroic  pose  as 
this.  There  were  many  hours  which  he  had  spent 
in  perfecting  a  clean,  machine-like  way  to  overcome 
such  a  handicap,  and  though  the  routine  had  worked 
out  to  his  entire  satisfaction  when  applied  to  count- 


RANGY   PETE  25 

less  small  bottles  and  other  objects  the  size  of  a  man's 
heart,  it  had  never  yet  been  applied  to  the  human 
form.  So  Rangy  Pete's  fingers  itched  to  test  its 
efficiency  upon  the  person  of  the  road  agent  imme- 
diately in  front  of  him.  The  method  was  simple, 
and  it  required  only  the  straying  half-second  glance 
of  the  watcher.  In  such  a  weak  moment  Rangy  Pete 
would  fall  awkwardly  to  the  ground,  in  that  sprawling 
movement  which  he  had  practiced  hundreds  of  times. 
But  the  sprawl,  innocent  as  it  would  seem,  per- 
mitted the  right  hand  to  sweep  past  the  right  hip 
and  it  gave  time  for  the  accurate  flinging  of  bullets 
in  any  given  direction. 

Rangy  Pete  knew  his  own  skill  in  flinging  bullets 
from  the  hip  at  some  object  which  the  eye  did  not 
take  time  to  see,  and  he  rather  regretted  that  it 
would  be  necessary  to  snuff  out  such  a  young  life, 
even  that  of  a  road  agent,  in  order  to  put  his  system 
to  the  test.  For  the  rider  in  front  of  him,  he  had 
abruptly  discovered,  appeared  to  be  but  little  more 
than  a  slip  of  a  boy  —  a  slip  of  a  boy,  with  a  clean, 
unbearded  face  and  with  blue  eyes  which  could  not 
be  entirely  concealed  by  the  mask  across  the  face. 

In  that  moment  Rangy  Pete  decided  that  it 
would  be  enough  to  wing  the  blue-eyed  boy.  A  bullet 
through  the  right  arm  or  shoulder  would  do  it. 
Then  a  second  bullet  through  the  back  of  the  other 
rider  standing  guard  over  the  citizens  of  Triple  Butte. 
That  would  free  Tony  Burke  and  his  army.  He 


26  RANGY    PETE 

himself  would  leap  back  into  (Hollander's  store,  and 
it  would  be  worse  than  rough  work  if  they  did  not 
get  at  least  three  more  of  the  bandits  when  they 
rushed  to  the  saloon  doorway  to  find  the  answer  to 
the  noise.  That  would  leave  five,  at  the  most  six, 
of  the  highwaymen,  with  their  forces  divided,  and 
with  the  most  of  them  separated  from  their  mounts. 
And  the  first  sound  of  excitement,  Rangy  Pete  knew, 
would  bring  into  play  every  Winchester  which 
Triple  Butte  owned.  And  if  that  were  not  enough, 
there  was  Dan  Merrill  and  his  riders  expected  in 
from  the  Snaky  Y  at  any  moment. 

"You're  sure  outa  luck,  Dervishers,"  Rangy 
Pete  reflected,  as  he  eased  his  arms  a  trifle  lower. 
"There'll  be  about  enough  of  you  left  by  night  to 
give  the  gospel  slinger  a  full  day's  work.  An'  the 
poor  devil  won't  get  no  pay  fer  it  unless  we  chip  in 
and  take  up  the  dough  fer  him.  Who'd  wanta  be  a 
gospel  boy  with  the  cards  stacked  thatta  way?" 

For  the  time  it  took  the  two  riders  to  reach  Burk 
Laxton's  establishment  and  hammer  their  way 
through  the  unresisting  doorway,  Rangy  Pete  kept 
his  glance  carefully  turned  away  from  the  slip  of 
a  boy  with  blue  eyes.  If  this  were  only  Dervisher 
Dick  himself  it  would  be  more  satisfactory.  It 
would  be  a  cleaner  test.  For  this  boy  doubtless 
would  be  some  degrees  slower  than  lightning  with 
the  six-shooter  in  his  hand,  and  that  would  be  too  slow 
for  him  to  escape  what  Rangy  Pete  intended  to  do. 


RANGY    PETE  27 

Rangy's  eyes  slipped  back  to  the  boy's  face. 

Accustomed  though  he  was  to  the  surprises  of 
life,  Rangy  found  it  difficult  to  repress  a  start  of 
amazement.  For  trickling  down  below  the  band  of  the 
Stetson  hat  and  trailing  out  over  the  upper  portion 
of  the  mask  was  a  shimmering  loop  of  hair. 

"You  otta  know,  you  young  maverick,  that  hair 
ain't  nothing  to  worry  about,"  Rangy  informed  him- 
self, "but  that  particular  hair  ain't  what  one  would 
look  to  be  decorating  the  foretop  of  a  road  agent." 

For  the  loop  of  hair,  besides  having  a  shimmer 
which  indicated  that  it  must  have  received  more 
attention  than  the  male  head  crop  generally  receives 
in  the  butte  district,  was  long  and  wavy  and  gave 
the  appearance  of  having  been  caught  up  somewhere 
in  a  loop  beneath  the  Stetson.  And  that  would  be 
too  foppish  for  any  youth  who  hoped  to  hold  his 
own  with  the  rough  and  ready  roisterers  to  be  found 
among  the  Dervishers. 

Abruptly  Rangy  Pete  grinned  to  the  extent  of 
his  capacity.  For  he  had  acquired  a  thought,  per- 
fectly absurd  on  the  face  of  it,  but  still  with  some 
slight  foundation  of  possibility.  And  if  the  impos- 
sible were  possible,  then  Rangy  Pete  would  be 
enjoying  the  distinct  novelty  of  being  held  up  by  a 
female  bandit. 

A  female  bandit?  And  thirty  seconds  ago  he  had 
almost  tried  out  that  sprawling  ground  shot  which 
he  had  practised  so  many  hundreds  of  times. 


28  RANGY   PETE 

*  Rangy  Pete  continued  to  grin.  There  must  be 
ways  of  discovering  whether  or  not  this  blue-eyed, 
boyish  person,  with  the  dangling  lock  of  shimmering 
hair,  were  really  man  or  woman.  And  Rangy  Pete 
must  make  the  discovery  rapidly,  for  the  fate  of  the 
whole  crew  of  Dervishers,  he  admitted,  was  hanging 
in  the  balance.  If  that  were  a  boy,  then  a  shot 
through  the  right  arm.  If  a  woman  —  Rangy  added 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  to  the  grin  on  his  lips. 

Still  the  blue-eyed  person  did  not  fall  back  upon 
words  which  might  have  betrayed  the  question  of 
sex. 

"Say,  you  young  feller  with  the  purty  eyes," 
Rangy  began,  with  the  grin  still  prominent,  "you 
got  the  smoothest,  cutest  little  chin  I  ever  set  eyes 
on.  They  ain't  nobody  in  Triple  Butte  could  stand 
up  and  swap  beauty  with  the  Dervishers'  pet. 
D'you  mind  slippin'  me  yer  monaker,  cutey,  so's 
I'll  know  you  next  time  from  the  fairy  queens  what 
drift  out  this  way?" 

Still  no  answer,  and  Rangy  Pete  shifted  restlessly. 
When  he  spoke  again,  his  conversational  style 
became  emphasized. 

"If  I's  you,  cutey  with  the  blue  eyes,  I'd  sorta 
put  a  rope  on  that  strayin'  bunch  of  hair  what's 
stickin'  out.  It's  sure  purtier  than  the  mornin' 
sunrise,  but  that  ain't  no  reason  - 

Rangy  Pete  paused,  for  with  a  quick  gesture 
the  rider  raised  the  left  hand  and  tucked  the  hair 


RANGY    PETE  29 

back  beneath  the  Stetson.  A  woman,  of  course. 
That  motion  had  betrayed  the  fact.  But  how  was 
he  to  get  further  proof? 

There  was  a  way  to  test  it.  Suppose  he  dropped 
his  arms.  If  it  were  a  man,  then  a  bullet  would 
probably  zip  along  in  his  direction;  if  a  woman,  she 
would  not  have  the  nerve  to  shoot. 

Rangy  Pete  grinned  some  more.  A  queer  testing, 
but  he  simply  must  know  if  there  were  a  woman 
with  sufficient  courage  to  ride  with  road  agents  and 
share  in  the  holding  up  of  even  such  a  peaceful 
center  as  Triple  Butte.  And  if  she  were  a  woman, 
he  must  know  more  about  her. 

The  puncher  shifted  the  left  hand  half  way 
towards  his  side,  but  with  his  gaze  fixed  intently 
upon  that  pair  of  blue  eyes  showing  between  the 
slits  of  the  mask. 

In  reply  there  was  a  bark  from  the  gun  in  the 
rider's  right  hand,  and  it  was  only  by  a  hurried  jerk 
of  the  left  arm  back  to  its  former  position  that  he 
escaped  the  bullet.  Rangy  looked  at  the  hole  in  the 
wall,  saw  that  the  bullet  had  cut  through  at  the 
exact  point  where  his  left  arm  had  been;  then  he 
looked  back  at  the  rider  and  grinned  some  more. 

"You  sure  got  me  guessin',  purty  eyes,"  he 
hazarded.  "I'd  a  sweared  youse  a  woman  till  you 
pulled  that  quick-fire  stunt.  You  sure  shot  to 
punch  a  hole  in  me,  an'  that  ain't  no  kind  of  a  thing 
what  a  sweet  little  girl  with  blue  eyes'd  do." 


30  RANGY    PETE 

"Who  says  it  isn't?" 

The  voice  came  clearly,  coldly,  from  the  rider 
with  the  blue  eyes,  and  though  there  was  a  studied 
thickness  hi  the  tones,  it  became  instantly  plain  to 
Rangy  Pete  that  its  background  was  the  soprano  of 
a  female  voice.  There  was  a  firmness  in  the  tones 
which  demanded  attention,  and  the  coldness  would 
have  discouraged  one  less  careless  than  Rangy  Pete. 

"Nobody,  Ma'am,"  Rangy  replied,  with  an 
affectation  of  meekness.  "I  just  had  a  fool  idea, 
but  it's  plumb  wrong  from  finish  to  start.  It's  just 
the  kind  of  thing  - 

"Don't  call  me  ma'am,"  the  rider  broke  in. 
"Call  me  sir." 

"Yes,  Ma'am,  Sir,  I  mean." 

Rangy  Pete  fell  silent  for  the  lack  of  something 
impertinent  to  say,  but  that  did  not  prevent  him 
enjoying  the  situation  to  the  full.  To  be  held  up  at 
the  point  of  a  six-shooter  may  not  have  many 
charms  for  the  average  citizen,  but  Rangy  Pete  was 
not  of  the  average.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  nothing 
of  which  such  a  situation  could  rob  him,  unless  it 
were  his  life,  and  according  to  the  teachings  which 
Rangy  had  imbibed  from  the  butte  districts,  life 
was  one  of  the  cheapest  of  commodities.  Two 
minutes  ago  he  had  been  quite  willing  to  plan  the 
complete  wiping  out  of  the  Dervishers,  with  the 
consequent  toll  which  such  process  would  levy 
upon  the  citizens  of  Triple  Butte.  He  had  viewed 


RANGY    PETE  31 

that  undertaking  with  the  same  coolness  with  which 
he  would  have  approached  the  branding  of  so  many 
strays,  so  now  the  meekness  which  came  to  his  lips 
and  to  his  features  was  considerably  short  of  par 
value.  Rangy  was  also  finding  the  novelty  of  the 
situation  refreshing.  In  Triple  Butte  where  Shifty 
Lizz  came  as  near  to  advertising  the  charms  of  the 
fair  sex  as  did  any  of  its  other  inhabitants,  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  rest  the  eyes  upon  a  nice,  smoothly 
rounded  chin  and  to  try  to  draw  up  a  mental  picture 
of  what  must  come  between  the  nicely  curving  lips 
and  those  blue  eyes  which  peered  out  through  the 
slits  in  the  mask. 

"A  beauty,  I'd  say,"  Rangy  reflected  aloud. 
"A  bit  young,  but  with  lots  of  staying  power." 

"Did  you  speak?"  the  cold  voice  came  again. 

"  Naw.  I's  just  reflectin'  on  the  sins  of  man  what 
don't  let  no  beauties  come  out  thisaway."  Rangy 
fell  back  upon  his  habit  of  slurring  words.  "It's 
funny  they  ain't  no  purty  women  hi  this  part  of 
the  world,  don't  you  think  so,  Mister?  They  was 
one  come  out  here  onct,  about  three-four  years  ago. 
She  hadn't  been  here  a  week,  Mister,  afore  they's 
twenty  punchers  wantin'  to  marry  her.  So  she  just 
naturally  packed  up  and  hits  the  trail  fer  summers 
else.  Now  they  ain't  a  purty  woman  within  fifty 
mile  of  Triple  Butte.  I's  just  sayin'  it's  funny, 
don't  you  think  so,  Mister?" 

Rangy  Pete  could  see  that  the  blue  eyes  flashed. 


32  RANGY    PETE 

Lots  of  fire.  That  was  the  way  he  liked  them.  If 
only  he  could  trap  her  into  some  further  identification 
of  her  sex. 

"But  perhaps  yer  hatin'  women  the  way  I  do, 
an'  don't  wanta  say  nothin'  about  'em,"  Rangy  Pete 
added  hopefully. 

"You've  said  enough,  you  giraffe.  This  ain't  a 
tea  party." 

That  was  very  good,  Rangy  Pete  reflected.  There 
was  not  enough  venom  or  coarseness  in  it  for  the 
rider  to  be  a  man.  There  was  also  the  faintest,  the 
very  faintest  suggestion  that  the  person  was  amused. 

Rangy  Pete  allowed  his  eyes  to  stray  past  the 
rider,  out  to  the  trail  of  the  Snaky  Y.  Then  they 
swerved  back  to  the  smooth  chin  and  the  clean 
lips. 

"If  youse  takin'  my  advice,"  Rangy  suggested, 
"you'd  be  tellin'  this  coyote  of  an  Ike  Collander 
to  mosey  along  to  the  other  side  of  the  street.  He 
ain't  nohow  to  be  trusted,  Ike  ain't." 

That,  Rangy  felt,  would  be  the  final  test  whether 
this  rider  were  a  precocious  boy  with  a  soprano 
voice,  or  if,  as  he  believed  now,  it  was  a  woman. 
A  precocious  youngster  would  not  shirk  the  respon- 
sibility of  guarding  two  prisoners,  while  a  girl  with 
the  sense  of  humor  which  he  hoped  she  possessed 
would  be  quick  to  see  that  for  some  reason  or  other 
Rangy  Pete  wanted  to  get  all  other  citizens  of 
Triple  Butte  beyond  earshot.  And  there  should  be 


RANGY    PETE  33 

enough  of  the  female  curiosity  in  her  to  make  her 
want  to  know  the  reason  why. 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  Ike  shootin'  you  in  the  back, 
or  of  shootin'  your  pard,"  Rangy  encouraged,  "fer 
he  ain't  got  a  gun.  Make  him  spin  round  like  a  top 
afore  he  goes,  an'  you  can  see  fer  yourself." 

There  was  the  least  suggestion  of  a  twinkle  in 
the  blue  eyes. 

"Ike,  get  out  of  here.  We'd  admire  to  enjoy  your 
absence."  The  voice  came  with  such  coldness  that 
Rangy  fancied  he  must  have  imagined  the  twinkle 
in  the  eyes.  "Pronto.  Make  it  like  a  jack-rabbit, 
or  there'll  be  ventilating  holes  in  your  fat  hide." 

Ike  Collander  did  not  wait  for  a  second  invitation. 
With  hands  somewhere  on  a  level  with  his  head,  he 
hurried  across  the  dusty  highway.  When  Rangy 
Pete's  glance  returned  from  Ike  Collander  to  the 
blue  eyes  in  front  of  him,  he  found  a  question  there 
which  had  not  been  put  into  words. 

"I  know  you're  wantin'  to  know  what  it's  all 
about,  Miss,"  Rangy  began  confidently.  "But  first 
of  all,  this  ain't  no  Hindoo  trick  trying  to  get  para- 
lyzed arms,  so  if  you'll  let  me  slip  'em  down  to  my 
sides,  Miss,  you  got  my  word  I  won't  try  no  fool 
stunt  with  you.  All  you  gotta  do  is  nod  to  say  *  yes. ' ' 

"Take  out  your  gun  and  drop  it  on  the  ground," 
the  blue-eyed  one  commanded. 

Rangy  Pete  did  as  told,  then  he  grinned  broadly. 

"You  ain't  in  skirts,"  he  said,  "but  you're  sure 


34  RANGY   PETE 

innocent.  Don't  you  know  I  coulda  perforated  you 
about  a  few  times  when  I's  doing  that,  if  I'd  wanted 
to?" 

"Yes,  but  I  thought  I  had  your  promise  to  be 
good.  If  you  want  to  try  it  over  again  I'll  bet  you 
anything  you  want  to  mention  that  there'll  be  two 
holes  in  your  hide  before  you  can  touch  the  butt  of 
your  gun." 

Rangy  Pete  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  grinned 
some  more. 

"I'm  satisfied,  Miss,"  he  declared,  "but  I'm 
tellin'  you  I  won't  be  noways  happy  till  I  get  a  look 
at  that  purty  face  of  yours  without  a  mask  on  it. 
They  ain't  nobody  lookin',  Miss,  and  this's  a  gay 
world.  Would  you  mind  just  slippin'  off  the  mask 
and  lettin'  me  feast  my  eyes  fer  a  fraction  of  a 
second  or  so?" 

"Don't  think  I've  gone  loco  because  I  let  Ike 
Collander  go.  We're  holding  up  the  place  and  you 
might  be  a  deputy  for  all  I  know.  Then  where'd  I 
be  the  next  time  you  saw  me?" 

"I'm  givin'  you  my  word  I'm  just  plain  Rangy 
Pete,  and  I'm  tellin'  you,  girl,  that  if  you  don't  let 
me  take  a  peek  at  them  purty  cheeks,  I'll  be  doing 
it  some  other  day." 

"How  do  you  know  I'm  a  girl  at  all?"  the  voice 
demanded,  and  Rangy  chuckled  to  think  how  far 
they  were  from  the  natural  pose  of  bandit  and 
prisoner. 


RANGY    PETE  35 

"You  wouldn't  a  stood  fer  my  guff  two  minutes 
if  you  hadn't  a  been  a  girl,"  Rangy  returned  con- 
fidently, "and  now  I'm  tellin'  you  I  got  you  marked 
out.  They's  that  little  mole  round  near  the  left  ear, 
and  I  sure  ain't  never  gonna  forget  the  set  of  that 
chin  or  them  lips.  I  got  you  branded,  girl;  now  I'm 
guessin'  you'd  better  be  hitting  the  trail  - 

Anger  seemed  to  flash  into  the  blue  eyes. 

"If  you  been  playing  with  me,  you  ought  to  be 
shot,"  the  voice  burst  out,  undoubtedly  feminine 
this  time. 

"  Say,  girl,  you  got  your  back  set  to  the  Snaky  Y 
trail,  so  you  can't  see  what  I'm  seein'.  Nor  your 
pal  across  the  street  can't  see  it  either.  Nor  that 
drunken  bunch  inside  can't  see  it.  So  it's  just  a 
confidential  matter  between  you  and  me,  girl." 

The  rider  made  a  quick  motion  as  though  to 
glance  over  her  shoulder,  then  turned  back  hurriedly. 

"No,  you  don't  pull  that  trick  on  me." 

"All  right,  just  keep  your  purty  self  settin'  right 
where  you  are  and  I'll  do  all  the  seein'  fer  the  two 
of  us.  They's  a  dust  cloud  back  there  on  the  trail 
what  looks  like  a  whole  army's  moving  along  this 
way.  But  I  happen  to  know  it  ain't  no  army. 
You've  heard  of  Dan  Merrill,  Miss?  Rough  House 
Dan?" 

"What  of  him?"  the  girl  demanded. 

"  I  got  the  inside  tip  what  tells  me  Dan  Merrill's 
back  there  in  that  dust  cloud,  and  they's  some  of 


36  RANGY    PETE 

his  bucko  riders  with  him.  You  gotta  take  my 
word  for  it  when  I  tell  you  the  cloud's  a  whole  lot 
bigger'n  the  one  you  Dervishers  made  when  you 
come  prancin*  in  fer  your  afternoon  call.  Now  if  it 
wan't  fer  you,  Miss,  I'd  a  stood  here  gabbin'  with 
you  till  that  dust  cloud  kinda  swamped  the  Der- 
vishers and  blotted  'em  out.  That's  why  I  got  Ike 
kicked  across  the  street,  so's  I  could  tell  you  sorta 
confidential.  Girlie,  they's  two  things  you  can  do. 
You  can  give  the  scare  sign  to  Dervisher  Dick,  or 
if  you  happen  to  of  seen  plenty  of  the  Dervishers 
and  think  that's  enough  - 

"Don't  call  me  'girlie'.  I  won't  stand  for  it. 
I'm  a  perfect  gentleman." 

"All  right,  Miss,  but  don't  interrupt  me  thatta- 
way,  fer  they  ain't  so  much  time.  I've  set  on  Ike 
Collander's  doorstep  often  enough  to  know  what 
them  dust  clouds  mean,  and  this  one  tells  me  they's 
a  pretty  little  bunch  of  buckos  who'll  be  here  inside 
a  half  hour.  All  you  gotta  do  is  use  your  head  a 
bit  to  know  they're  thirsty  and '11  shoot  straight er'n 
that  bunch  of  half  tanks  acrost  the  road  what  call 
'emselves  Dervishers.  If  you  let  Merrill's  crew  hit 
town  while  the  Dervishers  are  here,  it'll  be  good-bye 
Dick  ole  boy  and  a  big  period  at  the  end  of  the 
sentence.  I  once  went  to  school,  Miss.  That's 
where  I  got  that." 

The  blue-eyed  bandit  appeared  to  ponder  the 
situation  for  a  moment  and  even  went  to  the  length 


RANGY    PETE  37 

of  a  hurried  glance  over  the  shoulder.  Then  when 
the  eyes  centered  back  on  Rangy  Pete  they  were 
cold  and  deliberate. 

"What's  that  you  been  trying  to  say  about  me 
being  fed  up  on  the  Dervishers'  company?" 

"Nothin'  much.  I  just  sorta  got  to  thinkin'  that 
perhaps  a  blue-eyed  little  girlie  like  you  wasn't  with 
the  Dervishers  'cause  she  wanted  to  be.  Then  if 
that's  the  case,  I  knew  it  didn't  have  to  be  the  case 
allus.  I  could  sorta  see  you  settin'  there  on  that 
hoss  till  the  Snaky  Y  buckos  hit  town,  then  I  could 
see  you  steppin'  down  and  walkin'  into  Ike's  store. 
Then  they'd  be  me  and  you  scrappin'  side  by  side 
if  it  come  to  a  showdown,  but  they  wouldn't  be 
no  showdown,  fer  I  know  the  Snaky  Y  boys,  and 
they'd  have  Dickie  boy  stretched  out  afore  — 

Rangy  Pete  paused  because  of  a  flash  which  came 
to  the  blue  eyes. 

"Stop  right  there,  Mr.  Preacher  Pete,"  the 
voice  commanded  more  coldly  than  he  had  yet 
heard  it.  "Don't  try  that  reforming  stunt  on  me. 
You're  like  some  other  correcting  saints  I've  heard 
of.  You'd  reform  a  body  even  if  you  had  to  kill 
them  to  do  it.  I  heard  there  was  a  preaching  gospel 
boy  in  town,  but  I  didn't  think  he'd  look  like  you 
do.  I'm  going  to  hand  you  a  bit  of  advice,  Mr. 
Preacher.  You  can't  do  any  good  while  you're 
packing  that  gun  around  with  you  — " 

"But  I  ain't  the  gospel  boy,"  Rangy  Pete  broke 


38  RANGY  PETE 

in  peevedly.  "Ain't  you  got  no  eyes,  Miss?  I  ain't 
got  on  a  black  coat;  can't  you  see  that?" 

"Then,  Mr.  Rangy  Pete,  or  whoever  else  you 
happen  to  be,  did  you  really  think  I  would  sit  here 
and  let  Merrill's  crew  sneak  up  and  murder  the 
Dervishers?" 

"Murder?"  Pete  exclaimed,  being  reduced  to  short 
sentences  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  period. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Pete,  murder.  That  is  what  it  would 
be.  And  you  asked  me  to  be  a  party  to  it.  And 
to  let  that  coyote,  Dan  Merrill,  do  it." 

"Gosh!"  Rangy  Pete  returned,  as  he  watched 
the  growing  anger  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  saves  you  from  getting 
some  of  that  bad  blood  let  out  of  you,  Mr.  Pete, 
and  it's  my  bringing  up.  My  fingers  are  just  itching 
to  put  a  hole  in  you,  but  here's  my  answer. " 

With  that,  the  blue-eyed  rider  raised  a  six-shooter 
and  fired  three  rapid  shots  into  Ike  (Hollander's 
newly  painted  sign.  Rangy  Pete  glanced  up  and 
saw  that  the  bullets  had  cut  as  neat  a  triangle  as 
he  himself  could  have  done  at  the  same  range.  In 
immediate  response,  there  was  a  rush  of  men  from 
Tony  Burke's  saloon,  and  the  picture  they  presented 
was  formidable.  The  most  of  them  were  doubly 
encumbered,  with  a  six-shooter  in  the  right  hand, 
and  with  a  glass  or  bottle  of  liquor  in  the  left.  Their 
hats  were  awry,  their  clothing  was  even  more 
tousled  than  when  they  arrived,  and  on  the  whole 


RANGY    PETE  39 

they  presented  the  appearance  of  about  as  reckless 
a  band  of  cut-throats  as  even  Rangy  Pete  would 
care  to  meet. 

At  their  head  was  Dervisher  Dick,  who,  at  the 
distance,  seemed  to  be  a  big  swarthy  person,  and 
who  drew  the  mask  over  his  face  as  he  came  into 
the  doorway. 

"Even  that  is  better  than  Dan  Merrill,"  the  girl 
rider  declared,  with  what  Rangy  Pete  fancied  was 
more  than  the  average  show  of  bitterness. 

Rangy  knew  nothing  about  psychology,  yet  he 
felt  that  the  moment  was  a  most  opportune  one  for 
pressing  inquiries  upon  the  blue-eyed  rider.  Rather, 
it  would  have  been  opportune  except  for  the  booming 
of  Dervisher  Dick's  voice. 

"Hey,  you,  what  you  firin'  them  cannon  about?" 
the  Dervisher  leader  bellowed.  "Can't  you  see  we 
ain't  half  lickered  up?" 

The  girl  turned  and  pointed  in  the  direction  of 
the  Snaky  Y. 

Dervisher  Dick  tinted  the  air  with  much  pro- 
fanity, and  mixed  with  it  was  a  demand  to  know 
who  might  be  riding  to  the  rescue  of  Triple  Butte 
at  this  most  inappropriate  hour. 

"It  ain't  nobody  but  a  whole  army,"  Rangy  Pete 
informed  from  across  the  street.  "Dan  Merrill's 
ridin'  into  town  with  about  forty-fifty  riders,  that's 
all.  They's  a  shine  on  fer  tonight." 

Rangy  Pete  was  surprised   at  the   glibness  with 


40  RANGY    PETE 

which  the  lies  sprang  to  his  lips.  Ordinarily  the 
prospect  of  a  fight  between  punchers  and  bandits 
would  have  had  a  strong  attraction  for  Pete,  and 
he  would  have  gone  to  considerable  pains  to  assist 
such  a  function  in  the  direction  of  its  natural  climax, 
but  just  now  he  found  that  he  was  keen  to  hurry 
the  Dervishers  out  of  Triple  Butte  and  so  beyond 
the  possible  wrath  of  Dan  Merrill  and  his  punchers. 
The  only  reason  he  could  find  for  this  change  of 
viewpoint  was  the  question  of  the  personal  safety  of 
this  blue-eyed  rider  immediately  in  front  of  him. 

"Funny,  ain't  it?"  Pete  remarked  to  himself; 
then  he  added  aloud,  "Yeah,  Dick;  an'  they  all  got 
their  Winchesters,  an'  they  been  practicin'  up  'cause 
they's  a  rifle  match  on  tomorrow  with  the  Double 
K— " 

Dervisher  Dick  roared  out  a  sound  which  the 
bandits  interpreted  into  a  command  to  mount,  for 
almost  instantly  the  whole  squad  was  in  the  center 
of  the  road,  while  the  two  remaining  road  agents 
dashed  up  from  the  direction  of  Burk  Laxton's 
bank. 

"Get  anything?"  the  leader  demanded. 

"Locked  tighter'n  a  drum,  and  Laxton  ain't 
nowhere  to  be  found,"  one  of  the  men  informed. 

"That  don't  matter.  We'll  be  back,"  Dervisher 
Dick  declared.  "So  long,  Triple  Butte." 

"Wait,  Dick,"  the  blue-eyed  rider  called  out. 
"You're  overlooking  something." 


RANGY    PETE  41 

"Well?"  the  leader  demanded,  as  he  pulled  his 
horse  in  again. 

"You  know  I  always  did  like  evaporated  apples," 
the  girl  replied  coolly,  "and  there's  been  a  full  box 
of  them  staring  me  in  the  face  for  the  last  fifteen 
minutes.  I  know  they'll  be  good,  because  they're 
marked  with  Dan  Merrill's  name." 

Dervisher  Dick  bellowed  an  exclamation  of 
approval  as  he  leaped  from  his  horse  and  bounded 
across  the  roadway.  He  stooped  over  the  box  which 
had  recently  been  drawn  from  Ike  (Hollander's  stock 
to  be  decorated  with  the  Merrill  shipping  tag,  and 
as  he  fingered  the  tag  he  whooped  out  further 
approval,  which  may  or  may  not  have  been  due  to 
the  unwilling  hospitality  of  Tony  Burke. 

"Hist  her  up,  boys.  I'll  carry  this  myself,"  he 
roared,  as  he  tossed  the  box  to  his  horse's  back  and 
sprang  into  the  saddle. 

"Tell  Dan  Merrill  I'm  most  uncommon  grateful," 
Dervisher  Dick  called  back  over  his  shoulder,  as  he 
waved  a  gesture  of  opprobrium  in  the  direction  of 
Triple  Butte,  and  as  the  cavalcade  sprang  into  a 
gallop  towards  the  trail  which  did  not  lead  to  the 
Snaky  Y. 

Triple  Butte  stood  quite  still  and  watched  them 
go,  being  so  grateful  at  the  opportunity  to  rest  its 
palsied  arms  that  it  had  no  thought  of  sending  any 
bullets  in  the  direction  of  the  retreat.  s 

"Now  wouldn't  that  hog-tie  you?"  Rangy  Pete 


42  RANGY    PETE 

inquired  of  himself,  as  the  dust  swirled  down  the 
highway,  "and  did  that  blue-eyed  person  give  me 
the  wink  or  didn't  she?" 

Rangy  Pete  sighed  laboriously;  then  he  looked 
across  the  highway  and  the  grin  returned  to  his  lips. 

The  citizens  of  Triple  Butte,  as  they  were  gathered 
before  his  eyes,  did  not  present  a  heroic  spectacle. 
There  was  too  much  rubbing  and  shaking  of  numbed 
arms,  and  there  were  too  many  vainglorious  oaths 
as  to  what  they  would  have  done  under  other  con- 
ditions. Of  them  all,  Tony  Burke  was  the  most 
outraged,  for  he  had  lost  money  and  liquor.  Rummy 
Lister  and  Lefty  Merker  were  but  little  more  exalted, 
for  their  prestige  could  not  be  said  to  have  improved 
while  their  hands  were  fanning  the  air  above  their 
heads,  and  the  particular  choice  of  undesirable 
words  which  now  slipped  from  their  lips  appeared 
to  be  chosen  with  a  view  to  regaining  some  of  the 
lost  dignity.  Buck  Menzie  and  Lonzo  Rafters, 
having  neither  prestige  nor  dignity  of  which  they 
could  be  robbed  while  their  hands  were  airing,  were 
accepting  the  situation  with  much  less  display  of 
anger,  while  the  balance  of  Triple  Butte's  line-up 
were  loud  in  their  demands  for  blood. 

Rangy  Pete  picked  up  his  revolver,  slipped  it 
back  into  its  holster  and  ambled  across  the  roadway. 

"Whyn't  you  do  something  when  I  give  you  the 
wink?"  Tony  Burke  loosened  some  of  his  restrained 
emotion.  "You  been  boastin'  you  could  shoot  the 


RANGY    PETE  43 

wings  off  en  bumblebees,  an'  yet  you  stood  there 
with  your  hands  clawin'  the  air —  " 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  was  you  givin*  me 
the  wink?"  Rangy  asked  innocently.  "Honest, 
Tony,  I  thought  youse  blinkin'  back  the  tears 
'cause  of  all  that  good  licker  you  lost  fer  nothing. 
Gosh,  Tony,  if  I'd  only  a  knowed  you  wanted  me  to 
fight  we  could  just  naturally  a  perforated  the 
Dervishers  with  holes.  They  got  a  bad  scare. 
Didn't  you  see  that?  They  put  one  whole  man  to 
watch  only  a  dozen  of  you  bad  boys,  an'  that  shows 
they're  kinda  scared  of  Triple  Butte  — 

The  balance  of  Rangy's  thought  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  volume  of  a  unanimous  growl  which 
came  from  a  dozen  of  Triple  Butte's  citizens.  Out 
of  the  confusion  of  that  sound  there  emerged  one 
voice  which  Rangy  Pete  could  identify.  It  was 
Lefty  Merker,  the  set-'em-up  man,  who,  still  smart- 
ing under  the  threat  of  lost  prestige,  felt  that  it 
might  be  well  to  make  a  bold  stand  now. 

"I  don't  remember  seeing  you  do  anything  so 
awful  brave,  Pete,"  Merker  growled  out. 

"What's  that  I'm  a  hearin'?"  Rangy  Pete 
returned,  his  voice  grown  cold  and  free  of  all  sugges- 
tion of  humor.  "I'm  thinkin'  my  ears  have  been 
playing  tag  with  me.  Ain't  that  so,  Lefty,  er  did 
I  really  hear  you  say  something,  just  some  little 
thing?" 

Rangy  Pete  stood  quite  still,   in  careless  pose, 


44  RANGY    PETE 

his  hands  resting  easily  akimbo,  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  voice  and  manner  which  told  every 
citizen  of  Triple  Butte  within  earshot  that  a  crisis 
was  knocking  on  Lefty  Merker's  front  doorway. 
Except  for  that  one  stranger  whom  Lefty  had 
dropped  with  a  left-handed  shot,  Lefty  Merker  was 
an  unknown  quantity  in  Triple  Butte.  His  repu- 
tation as  something  of  a  bad  man  had  been  manu- 
factured over  the  bar  with  the  liquors  he  handed 
out,  and  up  to  date  none  of  the  citizens  of  this  semi- 
peaceful  community  had  cared  to  dispute  the  brand 
which  he  put  upon  his  own  manufactured  product. 
So  when  Rangy  Pete  used  words  which  challenged 
Lefty's  remarks,  Triple  Butte  forgot  instantly  that 
it  had  recently  been  visited  by  the  Dervishers. 

The  next  minute,  they  knew,  would  uncover  the 
real  brand  upon  Lefty  Merker,  so  quietly,  almost 
carelessly,  the  cluster  of  men  drifted  away  from  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  Lefty  Merker  and  Rangy  Pete. 

"I'm  a  waitin'  fer  your  answer,  Lefty,"  Rangy 
Pete  went  on,  while  his  eyes  never  left  the  face  of 
Lefty  Merker.  "My  ears  ain't  allus  tellin'  me  the 
truth,  so  I'm  wanting  that  you  should  ease  my  mind. 
Did  I  hear  you  say  something  reflectin'  about  me, 
Lefty,  er  didn't  I?  That's  right.  Take  your  time 
to  think  it  over.  They  ain't  no  hurry.  They's  many 
a  man  said  words  what  he's  repentin'  about  now  to 
the  angels.  Was  you  thinkin'  of  taking  a  long  trip, 
Lefty?" 


RANGY    PETE  45 

Lefty  Merker's  shifty  eyes  flamed,  but  his  hands 
did  not  move.  He  knew  the  folly  of  moving  either 
hand,  except  for  the  direct  purpose  of  reaching  for 
the  gun  at  his  side.  Yet  it  would  be  an  even  break. 
His  hands  were  as  near  his  gun  as  were  Rangy  Pete's. 
Still,  there  were  those  stories  which  he  had  heard 
about  Rangy 's  speed  with  the  six-gun.  There  were 
also  those  curious  eyes  looking  him  over  so  coolly. 
But  Lefty  Merker  was  not  the  type  to  fight  on  an 
even  break.  All  he  asked  was  a  sure  thing. 

"No,  you  didn't  hear  me  say  nothing  about  you 
at  all,"  Lefty  Merker  spoke  grudgingly.  "Fs 
talking  to  Tony  Burke.  They  wasn't  anything 
you  could  do.  You  had  a  man  over  you  with  a  six — " 

"That's  what  I  thought  I  heard  you  say,  Lefty, 
an'  I'm  sorta  glad  fer  you  that  you  didn't  say 
nothin'  else.  Now  you  can  slope  it  out  of  sight." 

Lefty  Merker  followed  the  suggestion,  but  the 
expression  of  his  shifty  features  carried  with  it  no 
promise  of  peace  for  the  future. 

"Why  you  wanta  go  pickin'  a  row  with  him?'* 
Ike  Collander  asked  querulously.  "Ain't  we  got 
enough  trouble  without  that?" 

"What  you  meanin'  by  we?  You  ain't  never  had 
no  trouble  that  I  ain't  hadda  get  you  out  of.  But 
you're  standing  around  yammering  like  you  allus 
do,  'stead  of  getting  a  posse  ready  to  chase  them 
Dervishers.  I  s'pose  you'll  leave  it  all  to  Rough 
House  Dan." 


46  RANGY    PETE 

Ike  Collander,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  Triple  Butte, 
did  appear  inclined  to  leave  it  to  Merrill.  And 
Rangy  Pete,  in  spite  of  his  suggestion,  proved  even 
more  disposed  than  the  others  to  trust  the  question 
of  retribution  to  the  riders  from  the  Snaky  Y. 

Tony  Burke  dashed  from  his  saloon  with  the 
excited  announcement  that  his  faro  funds  had 
been  looted,  and  he  found  Rangy  Pete  standing  in 
the  roadway  still  arguing  about  the  effects  of  the 
Dervishers'  visit  to  Triple  Butte  and  the  wisdom  of 
pursuit. 

"They's  some'll  say  it  won't  do  us  no  good  to  be 
put  on  the  map  by  the  Dervishers,"  he  heard  Rangy 
holding  forth,  "  but  I  ain't  got  such  a  narrow-lookin' 
view  of  things  as  that.  They  ain't  a  town  in  two 
states  but  what'll  hear  Triple  Butte's  been  held  up 
by  Wild  Dick.  Yeah,  Buck  Menzie,  I  know  they'll 
laugh.  They  couldn't  do  nothin'  else  if  they'd  a 
seen  your  paws  trying  to  pick  the  shingles  offen 
Tony's  roof,  but  I  ain't  a  thinkin'  of  that.  An'  they 
won't  be,  neither,  after  they  get  through  laughin*. 
They'll  be  thinking  Triple  Butte  must  be  some 
long-horn  or  they  wouldn't  be  no  band  of  Dervishers 
coming  down  here  trying  to  slip  their  brand  on  us. 
Yeah,  Buck,  it'll  do  us  a  lot  of  good,  an'  that's  why 
I'm  sayin'  we  should  be  sorta  grateful  to  Dick  and 
not  send  no  posse  after  him.  'Sides,  if  a  posse  did 
go  out,  I'm  thinkin'  Triple  Butte'd  be  some  less  pop- 
ulous afore  they  got  through  their  target  practice  - 


RANGY    PETE  47 

"You  ain't  lost  nothing.  That's  the  reason  you 
talk  that  way,"  Tony  Burke  broke  into  the  harangue. 
"Me,  Host— " 

"Sure  you  lost  something,  Tony,  but  go  on  and 
ease  your  mind  about  it,"  Rangy  returned  coolly. 
**  'Tain't  polite  to  stop  thattaway  in  the  middle  of 
the  street.  You  musta  lost  a  lot,  Tony,  'cause  you 
been  tellin'  us  all-long  you  never  made  no  money 
outa  faro.  But  that  don't  matter,  Tony.  Go  on 
and  tell  us  all  about  it.  We  got  a  sorta  sympathizin* 
heart  today,  an'  they  ain't  no  savin'  but  what  we 
might  bust  out  and  weep  on  yore  shoulder.  I 
wouldn't  hanker  fer  Dan  Merrill  to  find  me  weepin* 
on  yore  neck,  Tony,  but  don't  think  of  me  when 
you  got  something  sobby  to  talk  about." 

Tony  Burke's  hasty  retreat  was  the  only  indication 
that  he  intended  to  withhold  the  story  of  his  financial 
losses,  and  the  laugh  which  followed  his  withdrawal 
from  the  scene  told  Rangy  Pete  that  the  temporarily 
aroused  spirit  of  Triple  Butte  was  already  sinking 
back  into  its  customary  lethargy.  Just  now  lethargy 
in  Triple  Butte  was  what  he  wanted,  though  under 
ordinary  conditions  he  would  have  been  among  the 
first  to  stir  up  a  posse  for  a  half-day's  amusement 
chasing  the  Dervishers.  There  would  have  been 
sufficient  sport  and  chance  in  that  to  make  it  well 
worth  the  effort,  but  as  Rangy  Pete  turned  about 
in  the  roadway  and  eyed  the  approaching  dust 
cloud  which  enveloped  the  riders  from  the  Snaky  Y, 


48  RANGY    PETE 

he  told  himself  that  conditions  were  quite  out  of  the 
ordinary.  Assuredly  they  were  far  from  the  ordinary. 
For  though  he  had  heard  much  about  road  agents, 
and  had  caught  a  few  personal  glimpses  of  these 
inconsiderate  gentlemen,  he  had  never  before  heard 
of  a  band  which  left  any  portion  of  its  work  to  a 
blue-eyed  rider  with  a  girlish  chin  and  lips.  Any 
pursuit  on  the  part  of  Triple  Butte  would  doubtless 
lead  to  indiscriminate  shooting,  and  bullets,  Rangy 
had  observed,  have  no  more  respect  for  blue-eyed 
riders  than  for  black-bearded  ones. 

Rangy  Pete  was  somewhat  astonished  at  this  new 
touch  of  sentiment,  but  he  could  not  quite  down  it 
as  he  stood  in  the  roadway  and  watched  the  progress 
of  the  dust  cloud.  No,  the  only  thing  he  could  do 
would  be  to  delay  the  pursuit  of  the  Snaky  Y 
punchers  as  long  as  possible;  divert  their  attention, 
if  possible,  and  give  the  band  of  bandits  with  the 
blue-eyed  mascot  an  opportunity  to  vanish  into  the 
hills,  or  into  the  chaparral,  or  wherever  else  they 
felt  most  like  vanishing.  Then,  after  they  had 
vanished,  there  was  just  a  chance  that  he  might 
drift  along  in  the  same  direction,  alone,  of  course, 
and  with  the  sole  objective  of  determining  whether 
or  not  the  balance  of  that  particular  rider's  face  was 
as  attractive  as  the  blue  eyes  and  the  round  chin. 

"What  you  moonin'  about?  You  can't  put 
nothing  over  me,"  a  voice  interrupted  Rangy 's 
thoughts.  "I  know  why  you  ain't  so  dog-fired  keen 


RANGY    PETE  49 

to  be  slopin'  out  after  the  Dervishers.  It  ain't  'cause 
you  ain't  lost  nothing,  'cause  you  never  had  nothing 
to  lose,  and  you  «llus  been  the  first  to  wanta  go 
chasing  such  folks  out  of  a  peaceful  life." 

Rangy  Pete  carefully  eyed  the  individual  at  his 
side.  Then  he  looked  just  as  carefully  about  him, 
and  discovered  that  the  rest  of  Triple  Butte  was 
interested  entirely  in  the  riders  from  the  Snaky  Y. 

"Ike,"  Rangy  returned  severely,  "you  got  a 
tongue  in  your  head,  an'  you  reached  the  discrim- 
inatin'  years  of  most-nigh  forty,  but  you  ain't 
learned  yet  what  a  tongue's  for.  They's  been  more 
people  hung  by  the  tongue  than  any  other  way  I 
know  about.  Now  you  been  warned,  Ike,  so  if  you 
wanta  stick  out  yore  tongue  and  lap  it  about  yore 
neck,  jest  go  ahead  and  don't  mind  me." 

Ike  Collander  leered  with  a  daring  born  of  friend- 
ship, and  in  a  manner  which  would  have  made 
Lefty  Merker  envious. 

"I  ain't  gonna  say  nothing  what'll  make  you 
sorry  for  yourself  afterwards,"  Ike  replied,  as  he 
began  the  retreat  to  the  "General  Purpus"  store, 
"but  I  got  eyes  in  my  head  and  I  seen  the  same 
thing  you  seen,  and  that  sure  was  a  purty  chin  - 

Rangy  Pete  picked  up  a  pebble  from  the  highway 
and  hurled  it  in  the  direction  of  Ike  Collander,  then 
he  turned  about  in  time  to  avoid  being  run  down 
by  the  foremost  rider  from  the  Snaky  Y.  That 
rider  was  Dan  Merrill,  big,  broad  and  swarthy, 


50  RANGY    PETE 

burned  by  the  sun  and  evidently  by  his  passions, 
with  a  cold,  fearless  eye,  a  ready  gun  at  his  belt, 
and  with  a  voice  which  did  not  hesitate  to  proclaim 
its  owner's  wants. 

"  Set  'em  up,  Tony,  and  make  'em  high  and  long," 
Merrill  bellowed  from  the  doorway  of  the  saloon, 
as  a  troop  of  a  dozen  riders  slithered  to  a  halt  behind 
him. 

Rangy  Pete  waited  until  the  thirsty  cavalcade 
had  made  its  way  through  the  doorway,  then  he 
followed  in  the  same  direction.  He  arrived  in  lime 
to  find  Dan  Merrill  and  his  punchers  surveying  a 
scene  of  liquid  confusion.  On  other  occasions  Rangy 
had  viewed  the  waste  spaces  left  in  the  wake  of 
too  eager  roisterers,  but  he  had  never  before  seen 
any  work  quite  so  complete  as  that  which  had  been 
done  by  the  Dervishers.  The  floor  was  a  litter  of 
broken  glasses  and  "dead  soldiers,"  while  the  saw- 
dust which  was  sprinkled  about  to  give  courage  to 
wavering  feet  was  a  guttering  mess  of  flowing  liquor, 
and  the  wonderful  array  of  enlivening  cheer  which 
had  stood  so  conveniently  within  the  reach  of  Lefty 
Merker's  right  hand  was  nothing  but  a  blank  of 
desolation. 

"What  you  been  doing,  Tony?"  Merrill  roared, 
when  his  first  astonishment  gave  place  to  words. 
"Don't  you  know  this  isn't  the  place  to  break  in 
cay  uses?" 

"  Cayuses?  "  Tony  Burke  roared  in  reply.   "  They's 


RANGY    PETE  51 

been  something  here  worse'n  cay  uses.  The  Dervishers 
was  here  not  a  half  hour  ago.  They  got  all  my  faro 
money,  and  if  you  got  any  heart,  Dan,  you'll  go  get 
'em  for  me." 

Merrill  swaggered  slightly  as  he  turned  about  to 
his  band  of  punchers  who  had  suddenly  become 
grim-faced. 

"What  you  say,  boys?    We  get  'em?" 

"We  rope  'em  by  the  neck,"  replied  Bill  Sonnes, 
who  came  as  near  as  any  man  ever  did  to  dominating 
that  band  of  hard-riding,  hard-drinking  punchers 
from  the  Snaky  Y.  "We  come  to  town  for  a  bit  of 
sport.  We  might's  well  get  it  bumping  off  Dervishers 
as  any  other  way." 

"WThich  way'd  they  go?"  Merrill  demanded. 

"Took  the  trail  towards  the  Double  K,"  Burke 
informed,  "but  they'd  branch  at  the  Little  Forks 
and  hit  for  the  buttes.  Ain't  that  about  it,  Rangy 
Pete?" 

"  They  sure  ain't  loco  enough  to  ride  the  Double  K 
trail  far,  'cause  I  know  the  Double  K  boys  most 
well's  I  know  you  Snaky  Y  buckos,  and  they'd  just 
naturally  pump  a  whole  lot  of  lead  after  Dervisher 
Dick  if  they  ever  set  eyes  on  him,"  Rangy  Pete 
replied  in  reflective  manner;  "and  I'm  sorta  thinkin' 
it  ain't  such  awful  tough  luck  for  you  buckos  that 
they  do  keep  clear  of  the  Double  K.  Them  Double  K 
boys  is  most  awful  permiskuous  with  lead,  and  I'm 
hearin'  they  ain't  forgot  how  Bill  Sonnes  downed 


52  RANGY    PETE 

Baldy  Tipper  the  other  day.  They're  sorta  hintin* 
that  Baldy  got  it  from  the  side,  'stead  of  lookin'  it 
straight  in  the  face." 

A  silence  fell  over  Tony  Burke's  saloon. 

Rangy  Pete  was  leaning  easily  against  the  bar, 
and  Bill  Sonnes  was  conveniently  placed  less  than 
ten  feet  distant.  The  puncher's  eyes  grew  ominous 
at  the  words,  but  when  his  swift  glance  took  in  the 
fact  that  Rangy's  hands  were  hanging  limply  at 
his  sides,  he  permitted  his  expression  to  change  and 
he  broke  out  into  a  lolid  laugh. 

"Mr.  Judge  Pete,  since  you  wanta  ride  me  thatta- 
way,  I'm  tellin'  you  that  Baldy  dodged  and  that's 
why  he  got  it  in  the  side.  But  I  ain't  gonna  tell 
them  Double  K  boys.  They  can  go  on  thinkin' 
what  they  wanta  think,  and  whenever  they  want  Bill 
Sonnes  he  won't  be  hangin'  back  none  from  obligin'." 

"That's  awful  polite  of  you,  Bill,"  Rangy  Pete 
declared.  "With  them  kind  words  I'm  thinkin'  I'll 
throw  a  saddle  on  my  cayuse  after  a  while  and  fly 
down  to  the  Double  K  with  a  sprig  of  olive  in  my 
teeth.  Now  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  I'll  be  slippin' 
behind  the  bar  to  help  Lefty  Merker  set  'em  up. 
Lefty  got  a  scare  a  few  minutes  ago  and  he's  apt 
to  break  things  'less  he  gets  some  help." 

Rangy  Pete  assisted  at  the  liquidating  ceremony, 
and  he  assisted  so  freely  and  readily  that  the  Snaky 
Y  punchers  could  hardly  place  an  emptied  glass 
upon  the  bar  before  it  was  brimming  again. 


RANGY    PETE  53 

"They  ain't  no  use  holdin'  back,  boys,"  Rangy 
encouraged.  "This  here  is  on  the  house,  'cause 
Tony's  gonna  say  it  is  after  a  while.  Rummy  Lister 
should  be  doin'  this,  but  he  gotta  scare,  too,  an'  he's 
summers  back  behind  nursing  a  grouch.  It  ain't 
no  fun  stickin*  your  paws  in  the  air  fer  fifteen 
minutes  while  a  gun's  lookin'  you  between  the  eyes 
and  askin'  fer  business.  Rummy  sorta  lost  his 
angora,  but  he'll  be  right  fit  tomorrow." 

Dan  Merrill  seemed  oppressed  with  a  new  thought, 
for  he  suddenly  roared  out  with  more  bellowing 
volume  than  he  had  yet  displayed: 

"I'd  sorta  forgot  to  ask  what  all  you  men  was  a 
doing  when  the  Dervishers  was  here.  I  don't  remem- 
ber nowise  hearin'  shots.  An*  I  don't  see  no  wrecks 
ner  no  sawbones  at  work.  Was  you  all  standin' 
with  yer  paws  in  the  air,  Pete?" 

"We  sure  was,  Dan,"  Rangy  Pete  replied  soberly. 
"I  was  a  reachin'  up  alia  time  tryin'  to  hand  Ike 
Collander's  chimbley  down  to  one  of  them  road 
agents.  He  sorta  seemed  to  be  takin'  a  hankerin' 
fer  that  chimbley,  and  you  know  what  an  obligin' 
cuss  I  am.  I  kept  on  a  reachin'  and  a  reachin'  but 
I  didn't  get  it,  Dan.  But  you  shoulda  seen  the  rest. 
They's  a  whole  dozen  of  them  got  both  hands  up 
and  sayin'  'please,  teacher'  to  a  pore  little  road 
agent  what's  tremblin'  in  his  shoes." 

Dan  Merrill  roared  with  every  evidence  of  delight. 

"If  that's  what  happened,   boys,    we'll   let   the 


54  RANGY    PETE 

Dervishers  go,"  Merrill  declared,  when  he  was  able 
to  command  his  voice  again.  "Triple  Butte's  some 
fightin'  Little  town.  It's  wild  hosses  all  over  again, 
and  I  ain't  gonna  take  no  risks  of  draggin'  my  pore 
boys  into  no  kind  of  a  big  fight  what  Triple  Butte'd 
start.  No  sir,  not  me.  They  don't  get  me  into  no 
world  war  like  that." 

Rough  House  Dan  roared  with  further  delight,  a 
portion  of  which  was  appreciation  of  his  own  vocal 
effort.  He  was  still  mixing  laughter  with  liquor 
when  Tony  Burke  flared  at  him. 

"That's  my  licker  you're  drinking,  Dan  Merrill, 
and  I'm  asking  you  to  go  after  them  Dervishers. 
Ain't  I  been  telling  you  they  got  my  faro  layout?" 

But  Merrill's  merriment  went  unchecked. 

"It  oughta  be  worth  it  to  see  you  fellers  sticking 
yer  paws  into  the  air,"  Merrill  declared.  "If  you'll 
go  out  and  do  it  all  over  again,  Tony,  I'll  foot  the 
bill  what  the  Dervishers  run  up  against  that  faro 
joint." 

"Yer  laughin'  too  soon,  Dan  Merrill."  Buck 
Menzie  came  to  the  rescue  of  Tony  Burke.  "They's 
such  a  thing  as  laughin'  at  the  other  side  of  the 
face." 

"What  might  you  be  meanin'  by  that,  Buck?" 
Merrill  demanded,  with  an  abrupt  dropping  of 
humor.  "If  you  got  something  to  say,  say  it,  but 
if  you  ain't,  I'll  be  pitchin'  you  out  in  the  dust." 

"They   lifted   something   of   yours,   that's   all   I 


RANGY    PETE  55 

wanta  say,"  Menzie  returned.  "They  took  that  box 
of  evaporated  apples  what  come  in  for  you  on  the 
stage  this  mornin'." 

"Good  heavens!"  Merrill  exclaimed,  with  a  swift 
glance  about  his  band  of  punchers,  "but  you're 
lyin',  Buck." 

"Lyin'  nothing,"  Menzie  flared.  "If  you  don't 
think  so,  ask  Rangy  Pete.  He's  standin'  right  on 
top  of  them  at  the  time." 

"That  right,  Pete?"  Merrill  asked  excitedly. 
"Did  the  Dervishers  get  my  box  of  evaporated 
apples?" 

"I  would'n  wanta  say  nothin'  fer  sure  about 
that,"  Rangy  reflected  calmly.  "I  would'n  say  they 
was  yore  apples.  But  they  was  a  box  of  'vaporated 
apples  on  Ike  Collander's  front  steps,  an'  they  had 
on  'em  a  tag  what  had  yore  name  on  it.  That's  the 
box  the  Dervishers  took.  Mabbe  they's  yores,  an' 
mabbe  not." 

A  surprising  change  came  over  Dan  Merrill. 
With  a  few  swift  words  he  whipped  his  men  into 
action.  Glasses  were  hastily  put  upon  the  bar  with 
their  contents  but  half  consumed,  and  there  was  a 
hurried  racing  for  the  horses  still  standing  in  the 
center  of  the  roadway. 

Rangy  Pete  followed  to  the  doorway,  and  he  saw 
that  Dan  Merrill,  big,  swarthy  and  restless,  was 
already  mounted  at  the  head  of  his  band  of 
riders. 


56  RANGY    PETE 

"They  went  the  Double  K  trail?"  Merrill 
demanded  again. 

"They  sure  did,"  Tony  Burke  called  back,  as  the 
troop  spurred  the  drooping  cayuses  into  life  and 
swirled  down  the  roadway  amid  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Rangy  Pete  crossed  the  road  to  Ike  Collander's 
steps,  and  there,  with  the  curious  Ike  peering  through 
the  doorway,  he  stood  and  watched  the  cloud  of 
dust  sweeping  its  way  along  the  trail  so  recently 
taken  by  the  Dervishers. 

Pete  turned  about  and  faced  the  astonished  Ike. 

"Ike  Collander,"  he  drawled  deliberately,  "you 
see  what  happened?  I  told  you  Dan  Merrill  had  a 
weak  spot  you  could  stick  a  finger  through.  I  been 
known  to  wrassel  a  flock  of  red-eye  in  my  day,  but 
I'm  thankin'  my  guidin'  stars  I  ain't  no  'vaporated 
apple  fiend." 


CHAPTER    H 

THE  dust  cloud  was  still  large  in  the  immediate 
line  of  vision  when  Rangy  Pete  was  seized  with  an 
idea. 

"Ike,  what  you  standin'  there  gapin*  at?"  he 
demanded.  "Why  ain't  you  out  in  the  corral 
thro  win'  the  saddles  on  our  cayuses?  And  while 
you're  about  it,  you  might's  well  roll  up  a  tote  of 
flour  and  a  few  swabs  of  bacon.  We  mayn't  be  back 
for  two-three  days." 

"  We  mayn't,  eh?  "  Ike  Collander  leered  from  the 
doorway.  "You  got  your  grammar  most  awful 
mixed  up.  You  mayn't  come  back  forever  fer  all 
I  care;  but  me,  I'm  back  already.  'Cause  I  ain't 
goin*  nowhere  with  you." 

"Ike,"  Rangy  Pete  began  severely. 

"Don't  Ike  me,"  the  small  person  roared  out, 
"fer  I  ain't  a  gonna  go.  I  got  a  store  to  look  after. 
'Sides  you  ain't  a  gonna  burn  the  hide  offen  me  by 
ridin'  over  to  the  buttes." 

Rangy  Pete  considered  the  rebellious  Ike  from 
the  tips  of  his  toes  to  the  scraggly  fringe  of  his  hair. 
Then  he  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"They  ain't  no  punch  in  you  no  more,  Ike,"  he 
declared.  "Times  ain't  what  they  once  used  to  be. 

57 


58  RANGY  PETE 

You  ain't  no  kind  of  a  pal,  when  you  go  throwin* 
me  down  thisaway.  But  I'm  thinkin'  you're  right, 
Ike.  They  wouldn't  be  no  way  to  get  you  acrost 
to  the  buttes.  You'd  just  naturally  fry  up  and  run 
out  the  toes  of  your  shoes  afore  we  got  half  way 
there.  But  that  ain't  gonna  keep  you  from  throwin* 
that  tote  of  grub  together;  and  see't  you  don't  let 
the  hoss  flies  roost  on  that  sign  I  been  paintin'  while 
I'm  gone.  They  ain't  nothin'  quite  so  bad  as  hoss 
flies  to  muss  up  red  paint,  and  you'd  a  knowed 
that,  Ike,  if  you  hadn't  been  thinking  so  much  about 
your  miserable  ole  hide.  You  otta  know  things 
like  that,  Ike,  er  you  ain't  never  gonna  be  no  promi- 
nent citizen  of  Triple  Butte.  An'  don't  talk  so 
much  while  I'm  away.  If  they's  anybody  I  don't 
like,  it's  a  person  like  you,  Ike,  what's  alia  time 
runnin'  about  with  his  tongue  flappin'  in  the  air." 

Ike  Collander,  from  the  entrance  to  a  flour  barrel, 
made  certain  spluttering  sounds  which  brought  a 
fresh  grin  to  Rangy  Pete's  lips.  In  that,  Rangy 
appeared  to  recognize  a  familiar  sound,  for  he 
promptly  ambled  into  the  store  and  crossed  to  the 
vicinity  of  the  flour  barrel  and  the  stock  of  bacon. 

"Atta  boy,  Ike,  lemme  do  the  work  now,"  Rangy 
pleaded.  "I  ain't  a  gonna  have  you  doin'  alia  work 
around  here.  I  don't  see  why  you  ain't  fired  me 
long  ago,  Ike,  an'  you  woulda  if  you  hadn't  got  such  a 
kind  and  lovin'  heart.  But,  Ike,  you  got  the  patience 
of  a  long-lost,  errin'  father  a  mournin'  fer  a  model 


RANGY  PETE  59 

son.  Now  if  you'll  pull  your  head  outa  that  flour 
barrel  and  let  sumbody  work,  little  Pete'll  be  hittin' 
the  trail  about  as  soon's  you  got  that  cayuse 
saddled. " 

But  Ike  Collander,  it  appeared,  was  past  the 
breaking  point  of  exasperation.  He  emerged  from 
the  flour  barrel  white  and  bristling.  He  attempted 
some  sputtering  words,  but  failing  entirely  in  this 
purpose,  he  hurled  a  tin  of  canned  goods  in  the 
direction  of  Rangy  Pete's  head.  The  latter  dodged, 
and  the  tin  landed,  with  disastrous  effects,  in  the 
middle  of  a  neat  array  of  bottled  essences  lining 
the  wall. 

"There  you  go  again,  ruinin'  all  my  goods." 
Rangy  spoke  with  a  peevish  tone.  "Ain't  I  told 
you  afore  'at  canned  goods  is  to  eat  and  not  to  go 
smashin'  no  bottles  with?" 

But  Ike  Collander  had  retreated  with  his  wrath 
in  the  general  direction  of  Tony  Burke's  bar,  and  out- 
side the  saloon  he  found  some  half  dozen  citizens 
already  mounted  and  ready  to  follow  the  same  trail 
taken  by  the  riders  from  the  Snaky  Y.  A  moment 
later  Rangy  Pete  led  his  cayuse  from  the  corral, 
and  any  one  who  had  been  in  the  least  inclined  to 
make  observations  would  have  noted  that,  while  the 
others  were  ready  for  light  riding,  Rangy  had  his 
saddle-bags  well  filled.  But  no  one  seemed  to  notice 
Rangy's  condition. 

"Gonna  join  us,  Pete?"  Buck  Menzie  demanded. 


60  RANGY  PETE 

"Mabbe  so,  and  mabbe  not.  Depends  on  which 
way  your  hoss's  tail  is  pointin'.  If  it's  pointin' 
straight  towards  the  noise  of  battle  and  stickin* 
out  like  a  hoss  a  lopin',  I'm  with  you,  Buck.  An* 
I'm  thinkin'  that's  the  way  you'll  be  ridin',  'cause  I 
sorta  remember  seein'  your  hands  a  clawing  higher 
into  the  air  nor  anybody  else's. " 

Buck  Menzie  did  his  utmost  towards  the  tinting 
of  the  atmosphere  with  words,  but  Rangy  Pete 
only  grinned  and  remained  leaning  against  a  hitching 
post  while  the  Triple  Butte  posse  spurred  off  in  the 
direction  taken  by  the  Dervishers  and  then  by  the 
riders  from  the  Snaky  Y. 

Rangy  Pete  mounted,  then  turned  about  and  saw 
Ike  Collander  standing  in  the  saloon  doorway. 
There  was  a  marked  wistfulness  in  Ike's  simple 
features,  and  Ike's  eyes,  which  shortly  before  had 
been  glistening  with  anger,  traveled  meaningly  in 
the  direction  of  the  Collander  corral.  Ike,  it  was 
plain,  had  a  hankering  to  follow  whatever  trail 
might  be  set  by  Rangy  Pete,  and  that  despite  any 
previous  words  to  the  contrary. 

"Ike,  I'm  surprised  at  you,"  Rangy  reflected 
aloud.  "What's  that  I'm  seein'  in  your  hand?  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you're  smoochin*  some  red-eye. 
Well  now,  I'll  have  to  be  speakin'  to  the  gospel 
boy  about  you,  Ike.  I'll  tell  him  when  I  lope  past 
the  tent  that  you're  a  lost  heathen  and  that  you're  a 
needin'  his  saving  tongue.  Just  you  stand  thattaway 


RANGY  PETE  61 

till  he  gets  here,  Ike,  an'  you'll  be  a  changed  man  by 
the  time  I  get  back. " 

Ike's  barometrical  wistfulness  swung  back  to 
exasperation,  and  Rangy  Pete,  seeing  this,  eased 
his  cayuse  into  a  lope  and  set  out  along  the  trail 
which  had  just  been  traveled  by  the  posse  of  Triple 
Butte. 

"Poor  Ike,"  Rangy  reflected,  as  he  rode  along. 
"There's  only  one  way  to  make  Ike  stay  at  home, 
and  that's  to  get  him  bristling  about  the  neck.  And 
what  I'm  gonna  do  ain't  no  trail  for  Ike  to  ride." 

In  time  he  reached  Little  Forks,  the  branch  in 
the  trail  forced  by  the  out  jutting  of  a  spur  from  one 
of  those  far-off  buttes  which  stood  out  against  the 
sky,  dun  and  jagged  and  saw-toothed,  and  uninviting 
now  in  the  gray  sunlight. 

Little  Forks  was  a  name  only.  It  carried  with  it 
no  suggestion  of  a  structure  of  any  sort,  and  it 
might  be  said  to  be  the  border  line,  drawn  by  some 
imaginary  law  of  the  plains  and  the  buttes  and 
separating  those  two  forces  of  mankind.  On  the 
one  hand  were  the  hard-bitten,  keen-eyed  riders 
of  the  sage  lands;  on  the  other  hand  were  the  lawless 
riders,  the  Dervisher  Dicks,  who  were  always  a  law 
unto  themselves. 

At  Little  Forks  Rangy  Pete  paused  to  study  the 
trail  before  him,  and  almost  instantly  the  keenness 
of  his  eye  picked  out  that  which  he  had  hoped  to  see. 

Rangy's  years  upon  the  plains  had  taught  him 


6*  RANGY  PETE 

something  about  the  futility  of  these  mad  dashes 
into  the  butte  lands  with  punitive  mind  fixed  upon 
road  agents  such  as  the  Dervishers.  Merrill,  he  knew, 
would  appreciate  the  same,  once  the  preliminary 
of  his  strange  fit  of  anger  wore  away.  For  the 
Dervishers  had  ways  of  their  own  of  evading  frantic 
pursuits  such  as  the  riders  from  the  Snaky  Y  were 
at  this  moment  leading  far  to  the  west.  The  method 
was  simple  in  its  effectiveness,  and  it  was  nothing 
less  than  scattering  as  a  flock  of  birds  will  sometimes 
scatter. 

Sooner  or  later,  Rangy  Pete  knew,  the  Dervisher 
riders  would  drift  away  one  by  one  from  the  main 
body;  they  would  hide  in  the  chaparral  until  the 
heat  of  the  pursuit  lashed  by,  then  they  would 
calmly  ride  back  the  way  they  had  come,  seeking 
refuge  in  that  tangle  of  draws  and  hills  which  went 
to  make  up  the  fringe  of  the  butte  land. 

That  would  be  the  Dervisher  system  for  melting 
away  into  nothingness.  Rangy  had  known  it  long 
before  he  saw  this  lone  trail  of  hoofprints  pointing 
towards  him  and  coming  from  out  that  tide  of 
pursuit. 

One  of  the  Dervishers  had  already  doubled  back 
upon  the  trail,  and  the  rider,  he  could  see,  had 
swung  down  towards  the  Double  K  ranch. 

Rangy  Pete  chuckled  to  himself  softly.  Tin;  story 
of  that  single  rider  was  as  plain  to  him  as  the  signs 
of  the  sky. 


RANGY  PETE  63 

One  rider  had  swung  back,  seeking  refuge  in  the 
buttes  —  one  rider,  the  first.  And  who  would  be  the 
first  of  the  Dervishers  to  be  given  the  opportunity 
for  freedom? 

"Blue  Eyes,"  Rangy  confided  to  himself.  "There 
never  was  a  surer  guess  in  the  world.  Now  all  I  have 
to  do  is  to  follow  your  trail,  Blue  Eyes,  until  I  catch 
up  with  you,  and  then  — " 

Rangy  paused  just  there.  To  be  quite  frank  with 
liimself ,  his  mind  was  not  entirely  clear  as  to  just  how 
that  sentence  could  be  finished.  His  brain  was 
equally  vague  as  to  what  had  prompted  him  into 
this  strange  expedition  instead  of  riding  madly  along 
the  trail  as  the  Snaky  Y  punchers  and  the  Triple 
Butte  posse  were  doing.  It  was  something  foreign 
which  had  touched  his  emotions.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
sparkle  of  those  blue  eyes;  perhaps  it  was  the  trim 
dignity  of  the  figure  which  had  stood  guard  over 
him;  perhaps  it  was  the  conviction  that  the  girl's 
last  recognition  of  him  had  been  a  taunt;  but  however 
unplaced  might  be  the  purpose  in  his  mind,  Rangy 
Pete  knew  he  would  ride  the  course  of  Blue  Eyes 
until  he  found  her,  or  until  he  knew  pursuit  to  be 
hopeless. 

And  here  before  him  was  her  trail. 

He  was  still  chuckling  softly  to  himself  when  from 
behind  him  there  came  the  startling  sound  of  a  voice. 

"  Hey,  you  old  fly-bitten  maverick,  what  you  doing 
there?" 


64  RANGY  PETE 

Rangy  Pete  turned  about  methodically.  There 
were  only  two  classes  of  people  who  would  take  such 
liberties  with  his  nomenclature.  It  would  be  an 
enemy  who  would  have  him  properly  covered,  or  it 
would  be  one  of  the  riders  from  the  Double  K.  As 
he  turned,  Rangy  caught  sight  of  a  rider  sitting  his 
horse  in  lazy  fashion  by  the  edge  of  the  chaparral. 

"Hello,  you  old  dog-eared  pinto,"  he  greeted  in 
return.  "Have  you  seen  anybody  ride  this  way, 
Jumbo?" 

"Sure,"  that  individual  informed.  "About  a  half 
hour  ago  I  saw  a  rider  loping  it  for  the  Lone  Shadow 
butte  down  towards  the  Double  K. " 

"What'd  he  look  like?"  Rangy  pressed. 

"  Go  on  and  ask  me,  Rangy.  I  didn't  see  anything 
but  his  back  at  a  half  mile  range,  so  what  do  you 
expect?" 

Rangy  Pete  nodded  reflectively.  This  situation 
was  really  gratifying  after  all.  For  it  had  not  been  a 
part  of  his  intentions  that  his  knowledge  of  the  lady 
bandit  should  be  shared  even  by  as  good  a  friend  as 
Jumbo  Irish  of  the  Double  K  ranch.  Still,  his  pres- 
ence at  Little  Forks  demanded  an  explanation. 

"Did  you  see  a  whole  army  go  charging  past  here 
a  while  ago,  Jumbo?"  he  asked  casually,  as  his  glance 
drifted  down  towards  the  Lone  Shadow  butte. 

"All  I  saw  was  their  smoke.  That's  what  made  me 
drift  up  along  this  way.  What's  happened  to  the 
world,  Rangy?" 


RANGY  PETE  0$ 

"Nothing  at  all,"  Rangy  considered,  "nothing 
except  that  Triple  Butte  got  itself  put  on  the  map  this 
afternoon.  A  person  by  the  name  of  Dervisher  Dick 
done  the  trick.  Funny  how  it  happened.  It's  'cause 
he  stole  some  'vaporated  apples  that  Dan  Merrill 
and  the  whole  Snaky  Y  crew  are  burning  up  the 
trail  at  this  minute. " 

Rangy's  remarks  were  greeted  by  laughter  which 
did  not  attempt  to  conceal  its  impoliteness.  That 
laughter,  containing  as  it  did  the  full,  rich  taunts  of 
friendship,  necessitated  an  elaboration  of  facts  on 
the  part  of  Rangy  Pete. 

"So  you  see,"  he  informed  sagely,  at  the  conclu- 
sion, "that  person  you  saw  hitting  for  the  Lone 
Shadow  butte  must  have  been  a  Dervisher,  and, 
Jumbo  Irish,  that's  what  dragged  me  away  from 
my  cozy  home.  I'm  out  on  the  lone,  bagging  Der- 
vishers. " 

"And  I'm  with  you,"  Jumbo  informed  with 
startling  suddenness.  "We'll  sure  camp  on  his  trail 
till  he  thinks  we  growed  there. " 

Under  other  conditions  the  association  of  Jumbo 
Irish  would  have  been  a  welcome  thing  to  Ran  cry 
Pete;  but  just  now,  with  this  little  prompting  in  his 
brain  which  he  had  not  quite  solved,  association  of 
any  kind  would  be  an  encumbrance.  Jumbo  simply 
must  be  disposed  of  in  some  manner  or  other.  For  a 
moment  he  reached  up  a  lean  hand  and  toyed  with  the 
tip  of  his  left  ear.  Then  abruptly  he  grinned  broadly. 


66  RANGY  PETE 

"I'm  thinking  it  wouldn't  be  nowise  fair,  Jumbo, 
for  two  great  big  buckos  like  you  and  me  to  set  out 
after  one  little  Dervisher,"  he  deliberated  aloud, 
"and  there  wouldn't  be  any  fun  in  that  anyhow. 
Whyn't  you  get  a  Dervisher  of  your  own?" 

The  suggestion,  it  became  obvious,  was  not  with- 
out its  appeal  to  Jumbo  Irish.  Still,  he  had  a  doubt 
to  express. 

"Where  do  I  get  him?"  he  demanded. 

"Where  I  got  this  one."  Eangy  continued  to 
grin.  "We  follow  the  trail  till  we  find  where  another 
Dervisher  sloped  it  away;  then  you  can  take  him,  and 
I'll  take  this  one." 

Enthusiasm  suddenly  glowed  from  the  eyes  of  the 
Double  K  puncher. 

"You  betcha, "  he  declared,  "and  I'll  lay  you  down 
a  stack  of  yellow  boys  that  I  romp  my  Dervisher 
into  Triple  Butte  before  you  get  yours  there.  Say, 
but  won't  it  sort  of  set  Triple  Butte  on  the 
ear  when  we  mooch  in  there  with  our  little  Der- 
vishers?" 

To  Rangy  Pete,  a  wager  on  the  success  of  his  expe- 
dition against  Blue  Eyes  was  hardly  in  conformity 
with  those  restless  thoughts  in  the  back  of  his  brain; 
but  now,  with  Jumbo's  keen  eyes  upon  him,  it  had 
become  a  necessity. 

"Sure,  Jumbo,"  he  conceded,  "make  it  fifty 
yellow  boys  that  I  get  my  Dervisher  into  Triple 
Butte  before  you  land  yours  there.  Now  we'd  better 


RANGY    PETE  67 

be  looking  about  for  the  place  where  yours  left  the 
trail." 

Side  by  side  they  cantered  up  the  dust-churned 
trail,  and  a  half  mile  from  Little  Forks  the  air  was 
suddenly  startled  by  Jumbo  Irish's  mocking  laughter. 

"I  ain't  saying  that  I  believed  that  evaporated 
apple  story  when  you  told  it,  Rangy,"  he  rounded 
out  his  laughter  with  an  explanation,  "and  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it  now.  For  ain't  that  pieces  of 
evaporated  apple  scattered  along  the  trail?" 

Observation  compelled  Rangy  to  admit  the  accu- 
racy of  Jumbo's  charges.  Continued  study  of  the 
trail  revealed  the  fact  that  for  a  space  of  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  or  more  there  were  small  fragments  of  evap- 
orated apples  strewn  along  the  route  and  trampled 
into  the  dust  by  the  lashing  feet  of  many  horses. 
Eventually,  there  was  the  discarded  box,  empty  and 
cast  by  the  trail  side. 

Rangy  Pete  jerked  his  horse  to  a  halt. 

"Funny,  ain't  it?"  he  demanded.  "Here  the 
Dervishers  raid  Triple  Butte  and  steal  Merrill's 
'vaporated  apples,  and  Merrill  don't  take  no  worry 
at  all  about  what  they  do  to  Triple  Butte  until  he 
hears  that  they've  been  stealing  his  apples.  Then 
he  sort  of  goes  into  a  tantrum ;  and  now  we  find  these 
apples  a-decorating  the  trail  — 

Though  Rangy  glanced  rather  helplessly  at  his 
companion,  Jumbo's  only  answer  was  a  gesture  of 
impatience. 


68  RANGY    PETE 

A  half  mile  farther  on  they  discovered  the  point 
in  the  trail  where  the  second  rider  had  slipped  away 
from  the  pursuit  and  had  made  almost  directly 
across  the  chaparral-strewn  plains  for  the  mouth  of 
the  Pelican  draw. 

"Now  you  got  your  boy,  I'm  thinking  we'll  be 
meeting  farther  on,"  Rangy  commented. 

Jumbo  Irish  nodded  swiftly. 

"Mabbe  so,"  he  admitted.  "I  know  the  Pelican 
runs  into  the  Lone  Shadow  draw  about  ten-fifteen 
miles  up  the  buttes,  but,  Rangy,  I  don't  aim  to  let  my 
Dervisher  get  that  far.  S'long,  Rangy.  Meet  me  in 
Triple  Butte,  and  have  that  fifty  smackers  ready  to 
hand  over  to  me." 

With  scant  ceremony  Jumbo  Irish  vanished  among 
the  chaparral,  and  as  he  disappeared  among  the 
solemn  gray  shadows  of  the  plains,  Rangy  once  more 
chuckled  to  himself  softly.  For  the  way  had  been 
cleared  for  the  swift  and  silent  pursuit  of  Blue 
Eyes. 

Swiftly,  with  a  single  gesture  of  the  arm,  Rangy 
swung  the  burnt-yellow  cayuse  about  in  the  trail 
and  he  urged  the  animal  into  its  long,  measured  lope 
directly  across  the  chaparral-tangled  plains  for  the 
mouth  of  the  Lone  Shadow  draw.  And  as  he  rode 
silently  he  found  himself  pondering  those  hidden 
lures  of  the  girl's  features;  he  found  himself  wonder- 
ing just  what  would  be  the  full  cast  of  her  counte- 
nance when  that  disfiguring  mask  was  withdrawn 


RANGY  PETE  69 

and  shortly  he  caught  himself  up  sharply  with  a 
muttered  exclamation.  For  Rangy  Pete  had  dis- 
covered that  he  was  smiling  to  himself  at  the  prospect 
of  the  future. 


CHAPTER  III 

RANGY  PETE  knew  this  Lone  Shadow  draw  by 
heart,  as  far  as  its  juncture  with  the  Pelican.  He 
knew,  as  well,  that  there  were  several  butte  land 
ravines  drawing  in  and  converging  upon  The  Pass  — 
that  cut  in  the  higher  buttes  which  marked  the 
border  between  the  bleakness  of  the  sun-burned 
rocks  and  the  fringes  of  the  forested  hills  beyond. 

Beyond  the  Pass,  he  knew,  there  was  a  strangely 
tumbled  land  of  hills  and  gorges ,  forested  valleys  and 
bare  mountain  peaks,  which,  for  all  he  could  say, 
stretched  on  to  the  rim  of  the  world.  It  was  in  that 
confusion  of  hills  and  valleys  that  the  Dervishers 
made  their  home,  and  for  a  time,  as  Rangy  thought 
of  the  possibility  of  the  blue-eyed  one  finding  refuge 
there  and  becoming  lost  to  his  sight  forever,  he 
spurred  the  yellow  cayuse  into  swifter  pace. 

That  had  been  in  the  early  afternoon,  but  now, 
with  the  cool  shadows  about  him,  he  knew  that  his 
earlier  haste  had  been  waste  effort. 

For  there  before  him,  just  a  few  hundred  yards 
distant,  was  a  tiny  pin-point  of  light  cutting  its  way 
through  the  gloom  of  night.  Some  person  was 
camping  in  the  draw,  by  the  spring,  with  all  confi- 
dence and  security,  and  even  at  this  distance  he 

70 


RANGY  PETE  71 

could  smell  the  pungent  odor  of  smoke  which  drifted 
lazily  down  towards  him. 

Rangy  hid  the  cayuse  behind  a  boulder  and  began 
to  crawl  forward  upon  hands  and  knees. 

Dead  smoke  upon  the  air.  The  lingering  flavor  of 
coffee  and  bacon.  Some  person  camped  by  the 
spring,  and  taking  no  precautions  whatever! 

That,  of  course,  would  be  like  the  daring  of  Blue 
Eyes. 

For  a  time,  as  he  stole  forward  through  the  dark- 
ness, Rangy  felt  a  new  and  unknown  pounding  of  the 
blood  in  his  veins. 

Then  shortly  he  came  to  a  boulder  which  lay 
between  him  and  the  pin-pricking  of  light.  For  a 
time  he  peered  beyond  the  edge  of  rock,  but  he  could 
see  nothing  except  the  wavering  of  shadows.  At 
length  he  felt  his  way  silently  to  the  top  of  the 
boulder,  but  the  only  distinct  vision  which  greeted  his 
eye  was  the  smouldering  embers  of  a  dying  campfire. 
Quite  plainly,  the  object  of  his  pursuit  was  not  present. 

Shortly  he  heard  the  shuffling  of  restless  feet.  The 
Dervisher  was  returning  from  a  point  farther  up  the 
trail. 

In  that  instant  Rangy  found  himself  wondering 
just  how  the  capture  of  Blue  Eyes,  the  bandit,  was 
to  be  accomplished.  If  only  she  would  throw  more 
chips  upon  the  fire.  But  no.  She  seated  herself 
calmly,  with  back  towards  him,  contemplating  the 
smouldering  coals. 


7t  RANGY  PETE 

Blue  Eyes  twenty  feet  from  him  now,  and  quite 
unaware  of  his  presence!  Yet  the  position  was  a 
difficult  one.  It  might  even  become  embarrassing. 

The  bandit  shifted,  sat  erect,  glanced  about  over 
the  right  shoulder,  as  a  restless  animal  will  sometimes 
do  when  it  scents  the  presence  of  some  alien  ele- 
ment. Quite  plainly  the  road  agent  was  becoming 
ill  at  ease.  Rangy's  presence  doubtless  had  con- 
veyed some  message  to  the  other  through  one  of  the 
submerged  senses  called  instinct. 

Yet  in  the  slow  turning  of  the  head  which  was 
followed  by  a  careful  scrutiny  in  all  directions,  Rangy 
failed  to  catch  even  a  dim  view  of  the  person's 
profile.  The  shadows  were  too  deep  for  that;  the 
dying  coals  were  wrongly  placed.  The  whole  situa- 
tion was  wrong.  It  was  becoming  uncomfortable, 
mentally  as  well  as  physically.  He  could  not  wait 
for  the  morning  light  to  give  him  a  full  view  of  Blue- 
Eyes'  face,  even  if  this  jagged  rock  were  not  already 
eating  into  his  bones. 

"No,  Mr.  Lady,  they's  only  one  way  to  make 
this  round  up,"  Rangy  informed  himself  in  his  char- 
acteristic style.  "  It  shore  ain't  gonna  be  none  polite 
fer  me,  ner  dignified  fer  you,  but  if  you  had'n  been 
so  plumb  foolish  about  wearin'  that  eye-blanket 
back  in  Triple  Butte,  this  most  mabbe  wouldn't  a 
happened.  Rangy  Pete,  yer  jest  doin'  it  to  shake 
off  what  that  Methody  fellow  called  the  illusions. 
It's  most  likely  gonna  be  them  apples  he  talked 


RANGY  PETE  73 

about  what  turned  to  ashes  in  the  mouth.  When  you 
lay  eyes  to  her,  she'll  be  a  double-crossed  rip  ringer; 
them  blue  eyes  most  likely  squints,  an'  if  she's  got 
much  of  that  yeller  hair  what  you  seen,  she'll  look 
worse'n  that  cayuse.  'Sides,  I'm  bettin'  she's  got  a 
tongue  what'll  make  you  crawl,  an'  if  she  ain't  got 
a  kick  like  a  pinto,  Rangy,  you  owe  yoreself  about  a 
few  drinks  when  you  get  back  to  Tony  Burke's. 
'Tween  you  and  me,  Pete,  they's  only  one  way  to 
make  the  lady's  acquaintance  without  gettin'  some 
surplus  holes  punched  in  yore  hide  what  could  do 
without  'em.  So  here's  lookin'  at  you — " 

Rangy  Pete  reached  back  and  brought  his  lariat 
into  more  convenient  position,  and  he  began  to 
rearrange  its  folds  carefully.  It  was  a  twenty-foot 
throw,  but  that  meant  nothing  to  him,  even  in  the 
semi-darkness.  Still,  the  work  was  not  enviable. 
After  all,  the  throwing  of  a  lasso  about  her  shoulders 
would  not  be  quite  the  most  promising  way  to  renewr 
acquaintance  with  the  blue-eyed  rider.  If  she  were 
all  the  unpleasant  things  he  had  imagined,  then  the 
lariat  experience  would  not  matter;  but  if,  on  that 
one  off-chance  — 

Rangy  played  with  the  lasso  for  an  unnecessary 
length  of  time,  and  while  he  did  so  the  bandit  became 
more  restless  still.  Now  Rangy  saw  that  his  proposed 
victim  had  partly  risen  to  her  feet,  had  rolled  a 
cigarette  and  was  smoking  it  freely. 

"That  ain't  quite  the  thing  what  a  perfect  lady 


74  RANGY  PETE 

should  do,  blue-eyed  or  not,"  Rangy  admonished  to 
himself,  "but  I  s'pose  they  has  been  worse  habits 
nor  that  cured." 

With  that,  Rangy  Pete  made  a  dull  scraping  sound 
upon  the  face  of  the  rock,  and  as  the  road  agent 
stiffened  to  listen  to  the  sound  the  lariat  twirled 
out  through  the  night  air  and  landed  in  a  neat  circle 
over  the  head.  Rangy  gave  a  quick  jerk  and  instantly 
the  person's  arms  were  tightened  at  the  sides  and 
the  bandit  was  as  helpless  as  though  looking  into 
the  mouths  of  a  half  dozen  derringers. 

Whatever  Rangy  Pete  may  have  expected  from 
the  lone  camper,  he  had  not  looked  for  the  rigid 
silence  with  which  his  attack  was  greeted.  Beyond 
a  slight  straining  upon  the  rope  as  though  to  test 
out  if  the  situation  were  really  true,  his  victim  made 
no  struggle.  Assuredly  there  was  no  outcry. 

"You  shore  got  a  level  head,  purty  Blue  Eyes," 
this  time  Rangy  spoke  his  compliments  aloud,  "an* 
afore  this  little  seance  goes  any  farther  I'm  wantin' 
to  apologize  most  awful  humble  fer  the  sorta  impo- 
lite way  I  butted  into  yore  thoughts  - 

Rangy  paused,  to  give  the  other  an  opportunity 
to  release  some  of  the  natural  spleen  which  would 
attend  such  a  situation.  But  there  was  no  answer. 

"I'm  knowin'  you  must  be  kinda  sore,  Blue  Eyes, 
fer  this  rough  and  ready  way  of  makin'  yore  acquaint- 
ance, but  they  wan't  no  two  ways  about  it.  I  jest 
hadda  have  another  peek  at  you." 


RANGY  PETE  75 

Another  pause.   Still  no  answer. 

"Yer  a  queer  one,"  Rangy  volunteered.  "You 
don't  allus  keep  yore  tongue  shut  up  in  the  corral 
thattaway,  do  you?  Fer  if  you  do,  I  ain't  a  sayin* 
but  what  I'd  admire  you  a  most  awful  lot  for  it. 
If  you  got  a  mad  on,  jest  kinda  let  it  loose.  Horn 
right  in  an'  say  what  you  like.  You  don't  need 
to  mind  me  none;  'sides,  it'll  make  you  feel 
better —  ' 

Another  fruitless  pause,  though  this  time  there 
was  a  slight  downward  straining  at  the  rope,  as 
though  the  captive  knew  of  some  concealed  weapon 
not  far  from  the  finger  tips. 

Rangy  Pete  felt  that  the  situation  was  growing 
more  difficult.  It  was  quite  bad  enough  to  have 
captured  a  female  bandit  after  she  had  shared  so 
recently  in  the  holding  up  of  a  group  of  patently 
respectable  citizens,  but  it  was  much  worse  to  have 
that  bandit  retreat  into  silence  in  this  manner.  With 
one  hand  upon  the  lariat  to  keep  it  firm  about  the 
other's  body,  Rangy  scrambled  down  the  face  of  the 
boulder  and  so  came  to  earth  within  a  few  feet  of 
the  captive.  The  latter's  back  was  turned,  but  even 
had  the  face  been  towards  him  Rangy  knew  that 
the  light  from  the  fire  was  too  dim  to  permit  him 
to  see  his  prisoner's  features.  One  thing  he  noticed  — 
this  person  was  tall,  taller  than  he  had  expected, 
and  of  a  much  more  athletic  build.  Of  course  it  was 
going  to  be  a  case  of  ashes  in  the  mouth,  and  after 


76  RANGY    PETE 

all  he  wouldn't  lose  that  wager  to  himself  about  the 
girl  having  a  kick  like  a  pinto. 

"They  ain't  no  use  standin'  there  in  the  sulks," 
Rangy  pleaded.  "Now  listen,  little  Blue  Eyes,  'cause 
I  wanta  tell  you  something.  I  got  a  bet  on  with  a 
friend  of  mine  what  says  if  I  take  you  into  Triple 
Butte  afore  he  takes  his  bandit  in  I  win  a  stack  of 
yellow  boys.  That  shows  I  ain't  got  no  hard  feelin's 
agin  you.  It's  all  'cause  me  an'  that  fool  feller  made 
a  bet.  That's  funny,  ain't  it?  Whyn't  you  laugh, 
Blue  Eyes?" 

The  captive  swung  about  with  a  harshness  and 
volume  of  voice  which  were  astonishing. 

"Who  the  hell  are  you?  And  what's  that 
you're  talking  about  bandits?"  the  voice  demanded. 

The  tone  and  the  undoubted  masculinity  of  the 
voice  came  to  Rangy  Pete  with  something  of  a 
shock,  for  until  their  character  swept  aside  all  sug- 
gestion of  femininity  it  had  not  occurred  to  Rangy 
even  remotely  that  this  person  could  be  other  than 
Blue  Eyes. 

Rangy  Pete  blinked,  but  in  the  darkness  the 
stranger  did  not  observe  that. 

"I  wouldn't  go  whisperin'  thattaway,"  Rangy 
returned,  when  he  had  recovered  from  his  astonish- 
ment. "They  ain't  nobody  within  about  a  few 
miles,  an'  they  might  go  hearin'  you.  People  is 
strange  thattaway.  They  don't  know  no  better'n 
to  go  listenin'  in  on  private  conversations,  an'  some 


RANGY  PETE  77 

people  is  foolish  enough  to  go  yammerin'  their  heads 
off  about  what  they  hear.  F'rinstance,  I  would'n 
want  anybody  to  know  'at  you  didn't  like  the  feel 
of  a  rope  about  you.  It  might  sorta  create  the 
wrong  idea  that  you  have  one  of  them  natural 
hostilities  to  bein'  hung  - 

''Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  mean  by  horning 
in  on  my  affairs  in  this  way?  "  the  stranger  demanded, 
with  equal  vigor,  though  with  modified  voice.  "If 
you  are  a  road  agent,  go  ahead  and  rob  me  and  get 
it  over,  but  for  Heaven's  sake  take  this  rope  off  me." 

"Yeah,  there  you  go,  callin'  this  li'l  boy  a  road 
agent/'  Rangy  returned  with  aggrieved  voice,  "an' 
seein'  'at  you  give  me  the  name  I  might's  well  get 
what  credit's  comin'  to  me.  If  you  don't  mind 
standin'  still,  Stranger,  I'll  sorta  disencumber  you  of 
that  flock  of  hardware  what  you're  wearin'  so 
perrniskuous  like." 

With  that,  Rangy  Pete  advanced  cautiously  upon 
the  stranger,  and  while  the  other  stood  perfectly 
still  he  removed  a  fine  assortment  of  arms. 

"Yeah,  momma's  innocent  li'l  pet  should'n  be 
runnin'  around  the  woods  thisaway,"  Rangy  reflected 
as  he  examined  his  winnings.  "He  ain't  got  nothin' 
to  take  care  of  hisself  none,  an*  when  a  great  big 
bucko  puncher  comes  along  - 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  me  what  you  mean  by 
this  outrage,  or  are  you  going  to  sit  there  all  night 
like  a  kid?"  the  stranger  insisted. 


78  RANGY    PETE 

"Shore,  don't  mind  me,  Mr.  Road  Agent.  Go 
right  on  sayin*  things  to  make  me  feel  special  friendly. 
I'm  that  soft-hearted,  I'm  most  shore  to  bust  out  a 
weepin'  soon.  This  li'l  boy  can't  stand  no  sech  kind 
words,  Mister  - 

"What  do  you  mean  by  calling  me  a  road  agent?" 
the  irate  one  interrupted,  quite  overlooking  Rangy's 
mood. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  'at  you  ain't  one,"  Rangy 
asked,  with  apparent  surprise,  and  with  his  slurring 
drawl  uppermost.  "Now  ain't  that  jest  the  funniest 
thing  alive?  But  I'm  gonna  tell  you  somethin* 
funnier  nor  that,  Mister.  You  jest  pack  yoreself 
atop  of  that  saddle  sorta  half  comfortable  like,  an' 
listen  while  I  tells  you  a  sorrerful  tale.  They's  a  pore 
li'l  town  out  here  a  ways  what's  got  the  name  Triple 
Butte  tacked  onto  it  tighter'n  a  brandin'  iron  could 
put  it  there.  They's  nothin'  but  peaceful  citizens  in 
Triple  Butte;  wouldn't  never  shoot  up  a  person 
'less  jest  fer  a  little  bit  of  fun.  They's  so  nice  and 
tender  they's  got  a  gospel  boy  there  jest  holdin* 
open  the  pearly  gates  fer  'em  all  to  walk  in.  An* 
then  this  afternoon,  you  wouldu'  believe  it,  Mister, 
but  they's  a  great  big  bunch  of  road  agents  comes 
in  an'  steals  all  Dan  Merrill's  'vaporated  apples. 
It's  a  hard  world,  Mister  - 

"Fool,"  the  stranger  inserted  his  personal  opinion 
of  Rangy  Pete.  "What's  all  that  got  to  do  with  me? 
And  what  do  you  mean  by  coming  out  to  my  camp 


RANGY    PETE  79 

and  holding  me  up  in  this  way?  If  you'll  just  give 
me  back  one  of  my  guns  for  about  thirty  seconds 
I'll  fill  your  hide  so  full  of  lead  it'll  pay  to  melt  you 
down." 

"Now  that's  what  I  calls  right  obligin',"  Rangy 
declared  warmly.  "An*  any  time  I  gets  that  han- 
kerin'  feelin'  fer  lead,  Mr.  Stranger,  I'll  be  lopin* 
along  yore  way.  But  since  this  here  conversation's 
gettin'  personal,  I  might's  well  tell  you,  Stranger, 
'at  while  I  had  my  hands  a  pawin'  the  air  back  there 
in  Triple  Butte,  I's  usin'  these  holes  in  my  head 
what's  called  eyes.  It  got  my  eyes  so  set  on  yore 
hoss  and  yore  funny  duds,  Mister,  'at  I  could'n 
never  forget  'em  nohow.  That's  how  I  come  to  be 
traipsin'  out  here  after  you." 

Silence  for  a  moment. 

"Well,  what  you  going  to  do  about  it?  Take  me 
back  to  Triple  Butte?  Since  the  time  is  past  for 
bluffing,  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  you  long-shanked 
puncher,  that  if  you  have  any  respect  for  what's 
inside  that  hide  of  yours,  you'll  think  about  a  dozen 
times  before  you  take  me  to  Triple  Butte." 

"I  can't  think  no  dozen  times  all  to  onct,  'cause 
when  they  built  me  they  put  all  the  quick  spots  in 
my  fingers,"  Rangy  replied.  "So  if  it's  alia  same  to 
you,  Stranger,  you  might  throw  a  little  'lumination 
on  the  scene." 

"What  I  mean  is  that  if  you  take  me  to  Triple 
Butte  or  to  any  other  place,  there'll  be  such  an 


80  RANGY    PETE 

epidemic    of   grave-digging    that   you'll    wish    you 
never  heard  of  me." 

"I'm  wishin'  that  already,  Mister.  An'  won't  it 
be  some  consolin'  to  you  to  know  you'll  hit  the 
bottom  of  the  first  grave  if  them  Dervisher  pals  of 
yours  starts  any  fun?" 

"Touch  me,  and  they'll  shoot  up  the  whole  town," 
the  man  returned  obstinately. 

Rangy  Pete  appeared  to  be  reflecting  upon  the 
value  of  the  stranger's  words,  and  he  sat  in  silence 
for  the  time  it  took  him  to  smoke  the  half  of  a 
cigarette. 

"I'm  not  sayin'  we  could'n  reach  a  dicker, 
Stranger,"  he  replied  at  length.  "Jest  prick  up  yore 
ears  now  an'  tell  me  if  you  didn't  hear  me  a  callin' 
you  Blue  Eyes  a  few  minutes  ago?" 

"Certainly  I  heard  you,  and  I  thought  you  just 
as  crazy  then  as  I  think  you  are  now.  What  do 
you  mean  by  Blue  Eyes?" 

"I  gotta  confess,  Stranger,  'at  I  been  lyin'  to  you. 
You  ain't  the  Dervisher  what  I  picked  out  back 
there  in  Triple  Butte,  though  this's  most  confidential 
like.  If  you  ain't  willin'  to  take  it  confidential,  jest 
you  yammer  now  afore  it's  too  late  —  that  bein' 
the  case,  if  I  ever  hears  'at  you  ain't  been  treatin' 
this  conversation  confidential,  I'll  come  a  gunnin' 
yore  way.  Now,  Mr.  Man,  I'm  a  gonna  ask  it 
straight.  Is  there,  or  isn't  there  a  woman  a  riding 
with  yore  pack?" 


RANGY    PETE  81 

"None  of  your  damned  business,"  the  bandit 
flared. 

"Thank  you  for  tellin'  me  they  is  a  lady,"  Rangy 
Pete  returned  imperturbably.  "Now,  seein'  'at 
they's  a  lady  in  the  pack,  the  next  thing  is  this. 
Has  she  made  ample  provisions  to  escape?" 

"Again  none  of  your- 

"I  ain't  hankerin'  none  to  hear  that  impolite 
word  the  second  time,"  Rangy  inserted  a  protesting 
voice.  "Since  you  been  tellin'  me  the  lady  had  her 
plans  all  set  for  leaving  the  pack,  where'd  you  say 
she  was  gonna  slope  it?" 

The  captive  loosened  upon  the  air  an  assortment 
of  explosive  objurgations  which  caused  even  Rangy 
Pete  to  sit  back  in  astonishment,  and  in  the  end  he 
assigned  Rangy  to  the  hottest  place  which  the 
imagination  of  the  ancients  was  able  to  conjure. 
Then,  literally  speaking,  he  closed  the  door  upon 
Rangy  and  turned  his  back. 

Rangy  contemplated  that  back  for  a  moment 
while  he  toyed  with  the  tip  of  his  left  ear. 

"I  shore  gotta  admire  yore  flow  of  words,  Mister, 
if  that's  what  yer  biddin'  for,"  he  resumed.  "I  ain't 
noways  stingy  with  my  compliments,  so  I'm  gonna 
say  'at  if  you'd  set  up  a  school  summers  to  teach 
cowpunchers  how  to  swear,  you  would'n  have  to 
be  no  road  agent  no  more." 

The  stranger's  back  merely  shrugged. 

Abruptly  Rangy 's  eyes  centered   upon   the  rope 


82  RANGY   PETE 

turned  about  the  bandit's  body,  and  immediately 
his  fingers  came  away  from«the  tip  of  his  ear  and  a 
grin  came  to  his  lips.  Rangy  remained  silent  while 
the  grin  had  its  way,  then  he  continued: 

"I'm  not  sayin',  Stranger,  but  what  yore  back's 
a  hull  lot  less  hurtful  to  the  eyes  than  yore  face, 
but  I'd  shore  like  most  awful  well  to  have  you  swing 
yore  face  about  so's  I  can  yammer  at  it." 

Another  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

Rangy  promptly  gave  a  side  jerk  at  the  lariat  and 
the  captive  spun  about  like  a  top. 

"Say,  Mister,  they  ain't  no  use  crawlin'  back  in 
yore  shell  thattaway,"  Rangy  protested,  but  this 
time  some  of  the  idleness  had  left  his  voice  and  in 
its  place  had  come  a  firmness  which  even  a  road 
agent  must  recognize  as  worthy  of  respect.  "You 
ain't  been  nowise  polite  to  me,  but  I'm  tryin'  to 
remember  'at  a  puncher's  moreuva  gent  nor  a 
bandit.  Now,  comin'  down  to  tacks,  you  heard  me 
say  a  minute  ago  'at  we  might  make  a  dicker." 

There  was  something  in  Rangy  Pete's  tones  which 
commanded  an  answer. 

"What  is  it?"  the  road  agent  demanded.  "We 
aren't  in  the  habit  of  making  dickers  with  people 
we  meet." 

"They  shore  ain't  nothin'  like  gettin'  new  expe- 
riences," Rangy  confided,  "but  the  dicker's  this. 
They's  been  a  blue-eyed  lady  a  ridin'  with  yore 
pack  of  bandits,  an'  I  wanta  know  where  she's 


RANGY    PETE  83 

hangin'  out  about  this  minute.  You  can  tell  me  if 
you  like,  an'  if  you  don't  like,  you  can  have  as  much 
time  as  you  want,  up  to  five  minutes,  to  patter  yore 
prayers.  That's  what  I  calls  a  fair  dicker.  Youse 
got  a  chance  to  tell  a  gent  what  he  wants  to  know, 
er  youse  got  a  chance  to  flock  on  ahead  and  see  if 
it's  all  true  what  that  Methody  gospel  boy's  been 
a  say  in'  down  to  the  tent." 

The  road  agent  laughed  harshly  and  again  informed 
Rangy  Pete  that  he  would  see  him  in  a  warmer 
climate  before  he  would  give  the  information. 

"Seein'  as  you've  mentioned  the  place,  I'm 
guessin'  that's  where  you  will  be  hikin',"  Rangy 
returned,  quite  unmoved.  "The  five  minutes  starts 
right  now.  I  ain't  got  no  time-piece  on  me,  so  I'll 
jest  count  'em  out  when  I  think  the  minutes  is  up. 
When  I  says  'five',  if  yore  tongue  ain't  started  to 
flap  in  the  right  direction,  then  that's  a  li'l  tip  to 
me  'at  I  can  lay  in  an'  get  busy.  One." 

"How  you  going  to  get  busy?"  the  bandit 
demanded,  with  some  show  of  interest. 

"Now  I  should'n  go  to  givin'  away  no  secrets. 
That's  a  li'l  s'prise  I  got  waitin'  fer  you.  Jest  let 
li'l  pet  be  patient,  an'  he'll  get  what  daddy's  got 
waitin'  fer  him.  Two.  Three." 

The  minutes  were  ticking  off  with  alarming  speed, 
with  much  greater  speed  than  actual  facts  would 
justify,  but  Rangy  Pete  was  more  intent  upon 
impression  than  upon  fact. 


84  RANGY    PETE 

"Four,"  he  called  abruptly. 

The  bandit's  eyes  quivered  slightly,  but  that  was 
the  only  indication  he  gave  that  he  was  accepting 
the  situation  seriously. 

"Five,"  Rangy  boomed  some  fifteen  seconds 
later.  "They  ain't  no  use  delayin'  a  good  deed." 

Rangy  stepped  forward  sharply,  and  immediately 
began  to  spin  the  bandit  about,  coiling  the  rope 
around  his  victim  with  each  twirl  of  the  body. 
Then  he  caught  the  spinning  body,  steadied  it, 
knotted  the  rope,  faced  the  man  down  the  draw, 
and  commanded, 

"  March,  pronto.  I'll  be  lopin*  along  right  behind, 
so—" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this  outrage?"  the  bandit 
stormed,  as  he  began  to  follow  Rangy 's  orders. 

"Nothin'  serious  nohow,"  Rangy  informed,  as 
they  tramped  along  through  the  darkness.  "I  got 
a  funny  little  yeller  cay  use  down  the  draw  a  ways. 
He's  got  the  queerest  little  trick  you  ever  heard  of. 
Some  punchers  musta  taught  him.  Whenever  they 
uses  him  fer  lynchin's,  fer  drawin'  the  body  up,  you 
know,  he  seems  to  think  it's  fun  to  ease  back  a  bit 
when  the  swingin'  party  begins  to  kick.  That  lets 
said  party's  toes  jest  touch  the  ground,  an'  he  shore 
is  a  long  time  a  kickin'  off.  You'd  be  s'prised, 
Stranger,  how  that  li'l  yeller  cayuse  seems  to  know 
jest  how  much  to  ease  back.  He  sorter  keeps  it 
goin'  back  and  forth,  see-saw  like,  an'  he  does  it  so 


RANGY    PETE  85 

long  'at  I'm  wonderin'  if  he  don't  get  more  fun 
outuv  it  ner  anybody  else  - 

"What's  all  that  got  to  do  with  me?"  the  bandit 
insisted. 

"What's  'at  got  to  do  with  you?  Oh,  yes.  Funny, 
.ain't  it,  'at  I'd  fergot  to  tell  you  before?  Teller 
cayuse  ain't  had  no  practice  fer  a  long  time  now, 
an'  I'm  jest  a  goin'  to  see  if  he's  forgot  the  trick. 
You'd  shore  admire  to  see  it  yoreself,  Mister,  only 
I  don't  see  how  it  could  be  fixed  up  to  give  you  a 
special  seat,  seein'  they's  only  the  two  of  us,  an' 
seein'  'at  I  jest  gotta  test  out  yeller  cayuse  myself. 
Funny  I  didn't  think  of  it  afore,  Stranger,  but  I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I  won't  put  no  bandage  on 
yore  eyes  when  cayuse  pulls  you  up,  an'  I'll  build  a 
bonfire  so's  you  can  see  how  yeller  cayuse  does  the 
trick.  You  shore  will  admire  li'l  yeller  boy.  He's 
the  most  human  lynchin'  cow-pony  I  ever  run 
acrost.  You  see,  Stranger,  we  does  it  this  way.  We 
ties  the  swingin'  party  up  jest  like  yer  tied  up  now. 
Then  we  finds  a  cottonwood  with  a  big  branch  a 
stickin'  out.  They's  one  down  the  draw  here  a  ways 
what  you'd  think  had  been  made  spechully  fer 
accommodatin'  said  cantankerus  parties  what  needs 
lynchin'.  But  what  I's  gonna  say  is  that  we  ties 
up  said  party,  throws  a  rope  around  his  neck,  throws 
t'other  end  over  the  branch,  ties  it  to  the  cayuse's 
saddle,  an'  then  speaks  sorta  gentle  to  the  cayuse, 
kind  as  though  we  wanted  him  to  draw  easy  an' 


86  RANGY    PETE 

not  make  no  quick  job  of  it.  But  you  will  see  how 
li'l  yeller  cayuse  does  it.  I'll  build  the  fire  right 
clost,  an'  then  I'll  stand  ahind  you  so's  to  keep  yore 
eyes  turned  towards  cayuse  —  kinda  keep  you  from 
swingin'  —  " 

Rangy  Pete  stopped  and  he  appeared  to  ponder 
through  the  night.  Then,  a  moment  later,  as  he 
urged  his  captive  forward,  he  resumed: 

"It  kinda  bothered  me  to  think  mabbe  you'd  be 
admirin'  yeller  cayuse  a  hull  lot  fer  the  way  he's 
doin'  his  work,  an'  you  would'n  be  able  to  tell  me 
nothin'  about  it.  Seein'  'at  I'd  have  to  'skuse  you 
fer  not  talkin',  'count  of  the  rope,  you  know,  they's 
gotta  be  some  other  way.  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do, 
Stranger.  I'll  kinda  leave  one  arm  loose  up  to  the 
elbow,  an*  if  you  likes  the  way  cayuse  is  workin' 
you  flops  that  arm  a  whole  lot;  but  if  you  don't  like 
it,  an'  wanta  get  loose  to  talk  over  things  what  you 
mighta  talked  about  beforehand,  you  keeps  that 
arm  tight  to  yore  side.  Here  we  are,  Stranger, 
yeller  cayuse  standin'  right  where  I  left  him  —  an' 
I  bet  the  little  cutie's  jest  pinin'  fer  a  job." 

Rangy  Pete  leaned  the  Dervisher  up  against  a 
boulder  and  immediately  devoted  his  attention  and 
his  words  to  the  burnt-yellow  cayuse. 

"Don't  go  friskin'  around  thattaway,  li'l  feller," 
Rangy  admonished.  "Yer  a  funny  li'l  devil,  ain't 
you?  You  kin  allus  smell  them  onnecessary  gents 
a  comin'  down  the  trail,  cain't  you,  yeller  boy? 


RANGY    PETE  87 

But  you  should'n  go  to  gettin'  none  frisky  this  time, 
'cause  he's  a  great  big,  crool  man,  an'  mabbe  he'll 
kick  most  a  lot.  What's  that  yer  sayin'?  You'll 
pull  him  up  easy,  jest  a  wee  li'l  bit  at  a  tune?  See't 
you  do  it,  yeller  boy,  'cause  I  don't  want  you  to  go 
strainin'  no  muscles." 

Rangy  Pete  stopped  talking  to  motion  the  bandit 
to  resume  the  journey  down  the  draw,  and  after  a 
few  minutes  of  stumbling  through  the  darkness  he 
called  a  halt.  The  bandit,  being  handicapped  in  his 
means  of  locomotion,  was  glad  to  stop.  He  leaned 
up  against  the  first  object  which  seemed  to  offer 
him  any  support. 

"That  shore  is  one  fine  cottonwood  what  yer 
huggin',"  Rangy 's  encouraging  voice  resumed. 
"Great  big  trunk,  could'n  nohow  break  down.  An* 
if  you'll  jest  twist  yore  head  up  a  bit  you'll  see  that 
limb  about  twenty  foot  from  the  ground.  They's  a 
knot  all  set  right  to  keep  the  rope  from  slippin', 
so's  you  won't  nowise  get  hurt  by  floppin'  agin  the 
trunk.  I've  had  my  eye  on  that  limb,  Stranger,  off 
an'  on  fer  most  nigli  ten  year,  an'  I  ain't  never  seen 
it  yet  without  wonderin'  what  it'd  look  like  to  see 
a  bandit  a  hangin'  from  it  — 

At  this  point  the  road  agent's  nerve  began  to 
break.  Through  the  first  of  Rangy 's  chatty  con- 
versation he  remained  with  his  back  against  the 
trunk  of  the  cottonwood,  but  towards  the  end  some 
compelling  power  forced  him  to  step  quickly  away. 


88  RANGY    PETE 

He  stepped  towards  Rangy  Pete,  and  he  appeared 
to  be  straining  forward  in  an  effort  to  study  Pete's 
countenance.  For  Rangy's  manner  was  as  matter-of- 
fact,  as  casual  and  unflurried  as  though  he  were 
discussing  plans  for  the  cooking  of  the  next  meal. 
There  was  something  disconcerting  in  Rangy's  care- 
less manner,  something  more  nerve-breaking  than 
as  though  he  had  indulged  in  a  variety  of 
threats. 

"What  you  going  to  do  to  me?"  the  bandit  asked, 
with  an  attempt  at  bluster. 

"Hear  that,  li'l  yeller  cayuse?  The  gent  with 
the  ribbons  all  flockin'  about  him  wants  to  know 
what  yer  gonna  do.  Do  you  want  that  I  should  tell 
him,  yeller  boy?  Don't  go  whisperin'  to  me  thatta- 
way,  'cause  the  gent's  deef  an'  it  don't  matter  none. 
I  been  a  tellin'  him  about  a  couple  of  times,  an' 
he  ain't  heard  yet  - 

"Don't  stand  there  chattering,"  the  captive  broke 
in,  "but  for  Heaven's  sake  tell  me  what  you're 
going  to  do  to  me." 

"There  you  go,  yeller  boy,  ain't  I  been  a  tellin' 
you  said  gent's  most  awful  anxious  fer  you  to  start? 
He  can't  wait  nohow  - 

Again  the  captive  broke  in,  this  time  with  n  fine 
variety  of  expletives. 

"You  shore  do  make  me  envious  of  yore  flow  of 
words,"  Rangy  replied,  as  he  scraped  up  chips, 
refuse,  dead  leaves  and  small  branches  from  the 


RAMiY    PETK  89 

cottonwood  into  a  small  pile  and  began  to  kindle 
them  into  a  fire. 

9 

'Tain't  what  I  hoped  it'd  be.  Stranger,"  Rangy 
spoke  encouragingly,  "but  if  we  don't  waste  no 
time,  it'll  be  burnin*  about  right  by  the  time  you 
wants  to  use  it  fer  seein'  how  li'l  yeller  boy  does 
his  work." 

With  that,  Rangy  Pete  leisurely  untied  a  second 
rope  from  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  looped  it  over 
the  limb  of  the  cottonwood  with  the  first  throw,  put 
his  full  weight  upon  it  to  test  the  strength  of  the 
branch,  then  carefully  adjusted  one  end  of  the  rope 
around  the  bandit's  neck.  He  was  walking  unhur- 
riedly towards  the  cay  use  with  the  other  end  of  the 
rope  in  his  hand  when  the  captive  broke  in  again, 
with  the  least  amount  of  fortitude  which  he  had 
yet  displayed. 

"For  God's  sake,  man,  are  you  crazy,  or  what's 
wrong  with  you?  Are  you  a  lunatic,  that  you  could 
hang  a  man  in  cold  blood  like  this?" 

Rangy  paused  long  enough  to  kick  the  tiny  fire 
into  a  brighter  flame. 

"  Hear  that,  cayuse?  "  Rangy  replied.  "  The  gent's 
tryin'  to  get  kinda  friendly,  callin'  us  purty  names, 
but  don't  you  go  to  pay  in'  no  attention  to  him." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  stop  that  terrible  chatter, 
if  you're  not  too  crazy,  and  tell  me  what  you  mean 
to  do."  The  captive  started  the  sentence  in  a  rational 
voice  and  ended  it  in  a  scream. 


90  RANGY    PETE 

"Ain't  gonna  do  nothin'  atoll,"  Rangy  returned. 
"I'm  jest  gonna  tie  this  rope  to  yeller  boy's  saddle, 
what  I  shoulda  done  this  afternoon  afore  I  left 
Triple  Butte,  an'  then  I'm  a  goin'  back  to  yore 
camp.  I  kinda  forgot  somethin'  up  there.  My  head 
ain't  a  workin'  right,  Stranger.  They's  somethin' 
sorta  gone  wrong,  an'  I  can't  remember  what  it  is." 

Rangy  Pete  calmly  tied  the  rope  to  the  saddle, 
and  by  this  time  there  was  enough  flare  from  the 
fire  to  enable  the  other  to  see  that  the  work  was 
genuine,  and  that  should  the  yellow  cayuse  suddenly 
be  prompted  with  a  desire  to  move  away  the  results 
would  be  disastrous. 

"My  God,  I  knew  you  was  crazy!"  the  captive 
stormed.  "Don't  you  know  that  if  that  fool  cayuse 
moves,  he'll  hang  me?" 

"Hang  you?"  Rangy  asked  in  surprise.  "That's 
funny,  ain't  it?  I  do  sorta  remember  thinkin'  some- 
thin'  about  hangin'  a  man,  but  that  was  last  week. 
It  wasn't  you,  was  it,  Stranger?  No,  'twan't  you, 
'cause  I  don't  ever  remember  seein'  you  afore." 

Rangy  went  to  the  left  saddle-bag,  opened  it, 
took  out  a  double  handful  of  grain,  placed  it  in  his 
hat,  and  began  to  walk  towards  the  cayuse's  head. 

The  captive  attempted  speech,  then  stopped  again. 

Rangy  calmly  placed  the  feed  in  front  of  the 
cayuse's  nose,  and  the  animal  took  a  step  forward. 
The  movement  drew  the  rope  snug  about  the  road 
agent's  neck. 


RANGY    PETE  91 

Rangy  Pete  sat  down  upon  the  ground,  some  few 
feet  in  front  of  the  cayuse.  Then  he  leaned  over 
abruptly  and  pulled  the  horse's  food  a  foot  farther 
away  from  the  cottonwood.  The  cayuse  immediately 
stepped  forward  and  the  movement  swung  the 
bandit  from  his  position  on  the  ground,  carried  him 
three  or  four  feet  through  the  air  and  deposited  him 
with  his  feet  once  more  upon  the  ground  imme- 
diately beneath  the  knot  on  the  cottonwood  limb. 

"They's  one  thing  I  kinda  forgot  to  tell  you  - 
Rangy  spoke  calmly  while  the  captive  was  regaining 
his  breath  — "the  cayuse  jogs  back  and  forth  tha,tta- 
way  'cause  he's  eatin'  a  meal.  Yeller  boy  don't  look 
noways  comfortable  the  way  he's  standin'  now,  so 
I'm  thinkin'  I'll  hafta  move  him  a  bit  closer  to  me." 

As  Rangy  reached  out  for  the  hat  of  food,  the 
bandit  screamed  out  a  protest.  Rangy  looked  at 
him  in  surprise. 

"Don't  you  go  to  worryin'  none  about  yeller  boy 
not  gettin'  his  feed,"  he  soothed.  "It  does  look 
kinda  crool  fer  me  to  snatch  it  away  from  him 
thisaway,  but  he's  got  legs,  Mister,  four  of  them, 
an'  he'll  step  forward." 

Again  Rangy  reached  out  his  hand. 

"No,  my  God,  it  isn't  that,"  the  bandit  gasped, 
"but  you'll  hang  me.  What  do  you  want?  I'll  tell 
you  anything  you  wanta  know." 

"Was  they  somethin'  I  was  a  wantin'  to  know, 
Mister?"  Rangy  Pete  asked  with  evident  astonish- 


RANGY    PETE 

ment.  "I'm  sorta  forgetful  like,  but  it  does  kinda 
seem  they  was  somethin'  - 

With  his  hand  still  reaching  out  for  the  cayuse's 
food,  Rangy  paused  as  though  pondering  something 
which  was  quite  beyond  the  limit  of  his  intelligence. 
The  light  of  the  fire,  shining  upon  his  bronzed 
features,  showed  a  puzzled  face,  and  that  did  not 
lessen  in  the  least  the  bandit's  impression  that  he 
really  had  to  do  with  a  madman. 

"Yes,  don't  you  remember,  you  were  asking  me 
about  a  woman?"  the  captive  prompted. 

"A  woman?"  Rangy  Pete  replied.  "Jest  you  go 
to  hearin'  that,  yeller  boy.  Said  gent  behind  you 
what's  most  onnecessary  to  the  landscape  has  In'rn 
sayin'  somethin'  about  a  woman.  He's  most  mabbe 
likely  to  go  temptin'  us.  An'  we  don't  want  la  l>c 
tempted  none,  do  we,  yeller  boy?  Cummon,  cayinc, 
an'  eat  some  nice  - 

"Don't  do  that,"  the  bandit  screamed,  as  Rangy 
once  more  made  a  move  to  draw  the  feed  closer  to 
him.  "Have  you  gone  stark  mad?  Don't  you 
remember  a  few  minutes  ago  you  were  asking  me 
about  a  woman  you  called  Blue  Eyes?  You  thought 
I  was  her  - 

Rangy  Pete  drew  a  hand  across  liis  eyes,  as 
though  to  brush  away  a  daze.  When  he  looked  buck 
at  the  captive  there  were  still  puzzled  lines  upon 
his  features,  but  there  was  also  a  show  of  interest 
which  had  not  been  there  the  minute  before. 


RANGY    PETE  93 

"Gosh  A'mighty,  Stranger!  "  he  exclaimed,  "I  do 
sorta  remember  it  now.  Funny,  ain't  it,  cayuse,  'at 
I  should  ferget  anythin'  like  that?  My  head  ain't 
right,  Stranger,  ain't  been  right  fer  a  year,  an'  I 
kinda  get  things  mixed  up.  But  I  ain't  mixed  none 
now,  'cause  I  remembers  all  about  Blue  Eyes.  It's 
last  week,  Stranger,'  at  I's  sorta  lopin'  along  after 
Blue  Eyes  - 

"Last  week?"  the  captive  bellowed.  "Good 
heavens,  man,  you're  crazy  as  a  loon!  It  was  just 
a  few  hours  ago.  Can't  you  remember  nothing?" 

Rangy  Pete  shook  his  head  sagely,  and  he  assumed 
as  cunning  a  glance  as  his  experience  would  permit. 

"Naw,  Stranger,  you  cain't  fool  me  thattaway. 
I  remembers  the  hull  thing  now.  I'm  a  lopin'  after 
Blue  Eyes  down  the  Double  K  way,  when  what'd 
I  see  but  some  frisky  gents  a  rustlin'  some  of  the 
Double  K  brands.  I  remembers  how  me  and  Jumbo 
Irish  and  Baldy  Tipper  and  some  other  punchers 
chases  said  gents,  an'  we  catches  one  of  them.  Yeah, 
Stranger,  yer  shore  the  gent  what  we  catched  — 

The  captive  interrupted  with  some  sounds  which, 
because  of  their  volume,  proved  unintelligible. 

"Shore,  jest  as  you  been  sayin',  Mister,  we  took 
you  over  to  Triple  Butte  fer  trial,  an'  Ole  Judge 
Slocum  decided  you  was  plumb  undecorative  to  the 
scenery  an'  'at  you'd  hafta  be  bumped  off.  I  kinda 
remembers  the  hull  thing  now.  Funny,  ain't  it, 
how  I  f ergot  it  thattaway;  but  I  told  you  my  head 


94  RANGY    PETE 

ain't  allus  right.  I  could'n  think  a  while  ago  what 
I's  doin'  here  with  you,  an'  you  with  a  rope  around 
yer  neck,  but  now  I  remembers  alright.  I'm  the 
deputy,  Mister,  what  does  all  the  swingin's,  an'  yer 
the  hoss  thief  what  we  caught  down  the  Double  K 
way." 

Rangy  Pete  looked  up  at  the  captive,  and  as  the 
light  from  the  fire  played  over  his  countenance  it 
showed  features  which  had  become  entirely  blank 
of  expression. 

"My  God,  man,"  the  bandit  gasped  out,  "I'm 
not  a  horse  thief,  an'  you're  not  the  deputy.  Listen 
a  minute,  man,  and  let  me  explain." 

Rangy  twisted  his  head  to  one  side  as  though 
listening  carefully,  and  he  did  not  overlook  the 
marked  tremor  which  had  come  into  the  captive's 
voice. 

"I'm  guessin  I've  got  you  lined  up  plumb  so's 
you'll  tell  the  truth  fer  once  in  yore  life,"  Rangy 
Pete  remarked  to  himself,  while  outwardly  he  merely 
continued  to  turn  his  head  curiously  in  the  direction 
of  the  other  man. 

"Listen,"  the  bandit  continued,  with  the  tremor 
still  manifest.  "I  am  not  a  horse  thief.  I  am  one 
of  the  Dervishers,  the  road  agents,  you  know.  We 
went  to  Triple  Butte  this  afternoon  for  some  reason 
which  Dervisher  Dick  didn't  tell  me  — 

Rangy  Pete  laughed  suddenly  and  harshly. 

"Funny    I    fergot,"    Rangy    exclaimed,    "but    I 


RAM.Y    PETE  95 

knows  now  why  he  went.  He's  a  'vaporated  apple 
fiend,  jest  like  Dan  Merrill.  He  went  to  git  them 
'vaporated  apples." 

It  was  quite  evident,  even  through  the  semi- 
darkness,  that  the  bandit  shivered,  and  a  look  of 
intense  fright  passed  across  his  features. 

"Yes,  my  good  fellow,  it  was  to  get  the  evaporated 
apples,"  he  decided  to  humor  Rangy,  with  the 
quaver  still  in  his  voice.  "We  got  the  apples,  and  a 
posse  chased  us.  You  were  one  of  the  posse,  don't 
you  remember?  And  when  I  left  the  main  party  of 
Dervishers  and  dodged  back  this  draw,  you  followed 
me.  You  thought  I  was  Blue  Eyes  - 

"An'  who's  Blue  Eyes?"  Rangy  demanded  in  a 
puzzled  way. 

"She  is  a  woman  who's  been  riding  with  us. 
I  think  you  must  have  seen  her  in  Triple  Butte  this 
afternoon.  You  were  really  following  her  when 
you  got  on  my  track.  Now  that's  the  whole  thing. 
That's  how  you  come  to  be  here,  and  why  I've  got 
this  rope  around  my  neck.  You  weren't  sent  out 
to  hang  me.  You  told  me  a  while  ago  that  if  I 
wouldn't  tell  you  where  Blue  Eyes  was,  you  would 
hang  me  — 

"Gosh!"  Rangy  exclaimed,  "did  I  tell  you  that, 
Stranger?  An'  I  ain't  never  heard  of  Blue  Eyes 
before.  Here,  you  cayuse,  back  up  a  bit  an*  let  the 
Stranger  talk.  He's  gonna  tell  us  a  purty  story  about 
Blue  Eyes.  What's  yore  name,  Stranger?" 


96  RANGY    PETE 

"They  call  me  Buzzard  Flynn,"  the  captive 
informed,  with  a  faint  show  of  returning  confidence. 
"I'm  one  of  the  Dervisher  riders,  and  if  you  take 
this  rope  off  me  so  I  can  walk  about  a  bit,  I'll  show 
you  where  you  can  find  Blue  Eyes  - 

"I  ain't  sayin'  'at  I  want  a  see  Blue  Eyes  none. 
I  ain't  so  awful  set  on  women  folks." 

A  little  of  the  fright  returned  to  Buzzard  Flynn 's 
face. 

"But  you  said  when  you  saw  me  first  that  you 
were  after  Blue  Eyes,"  he  prompted  hopefully. 

"Did  we  say  that,  cayuse?"  Rangy  demanded  of 
the  animal  at  his  side.  "We  shore  is  funny  in  our 
heads  at  times,  yeller  cayuse.  But  go  on  an'  tt-ll 
me,  Buzzard." 

"You  said  you  just  wanted  to  get  another  look 
at  Blue  Eyes'  face,"  Buzzard  recalled.  "Now  I 
know  just  where  Blue  Eyes  was  going  to  leave  the 
band,  and  I  know  where  she  will  be  camping  for  the 
night.  We  had  that  all  arranged  ahead  of  time. 
We  always  do.  So  if  you'll  take  this  rope  offen  me, 
I'll  show  you  right  where  she  is." 

Buzzard  Flynn  pitched  his  voice  in  as  placating 
a  tone  as  possible  —  a  tone  designed  to  wheedle  the 
fevered  brain  of  a  crazy  man. 

"Shore  you  ain't  foolin'  me,  and  'at  they  is  sech 
a  woman?"  Rangy  demanded,  with  a  show  of 
interest. 

"Honest  to  God,  man,  there  is.     If  your  head 


RANGY    PETE  97 

wasn't  all  wheels,  you'd  know  that  yourself.  Come 
with  me  and  I'll  show  you.  Just  take  this  rope  off  —  " 

Rangy  Pete  sprang  to  his  feet  and  began  a  sudden 
display  of  activity. 

"I'll  shore  go  with  you,  Mr.  Buzzard,  but  I  ain't 
gonna  take  no  rope  off  yore  neck,  'cause  if  we  don't 
happen  to  find  no  lady,  it'll  be  plumb  useful  right 
where  it  is." 

Rangy  untied  the  rope  from  the  saddle,  threw  it 
back  over  the  cotton  wood  limb  and  retied  it  to  the 
saddle.  Then  he  frisked  Mr.  Buzzard  Flynn's 
pockets  in  a  most  thorough  manner  to  guarantee 
that  the  gentleman  was  not  hiding  out  any  weapons 
which  might  prove  dangerous  in  the  dark.  After 
that  he  loosened  the  Dervisher's  bonds  to  allow 
him  much  greater  freedom  of  movement. 

"Now,  Mr.  Buzzard  Flynn,  we're  ready  to  lope 
along.  You  an'  me'll  jog  out  in  front  an'  let  li'l 
cayuse  come  along  ahind.  My  head's  kinda  feelin' 
right  now,  Mr.  Buzzard.  It  goes  that  way  at  times, 
sorta  off  an'  on.  An'  'cause  I'm  feelin'  charitable 
like  now,  I  wanta  tell  you  'at  you  should'n  try  no 
tricks,  fer  you  don't  know  when  my  head's  gonna 
get  queer  again.  You  get  funny,  an'  all  I  gotta  do 
is  whistle.  When  I  whistles,  yeller  cayuse  allus  acts 
like  a  plumb  fool.  He  allus  turns  around  an'  acts 
like  he  thought  they's  a  square  meal  a  runnin'  away 
from  him  in  t'other  direction.  I'm  tellin'  you  this, 
Mr.  Buzzard,  'cause  we're  sorta  friends  now,  an' 


98  RANGY    PETE 

I  would'n  noways  want  you  to  get  hurt  none.  Now 
you  jest  saunter  along  pronto,  an'  I'm  thinkin' 
you'd  better  find  that  person  you  call  Blue  Eyes 
afore  mornin',  'cause  they's  times  around  mornin' 
when  I  do  get  queer  ideas  into  my  head.  Want  me 
to  tell  you  what  I  done  onct  in  the  mornin'?" 

"No!  No!  For  Heaven's  sake,  let's  hurry!  I'll 
take  your  word  for  it,"  Buzzard  Flynn  declared,  as 
he  started  to  lead  the  way  up  the  draw. 

Rangy  Pete  swung  in  at  his  side,  with  the  cayuse 
rather  less  than  the  length  of  the  rope  behind.  At 
Flynn's  camp  Rangy  caught  the  bandit's  animal, 
saddled  it,  collected  everything  in  the  way  of  equip- 
ment, and  then  resumed  his  place  in  the  line  of 
march,  leading  the  other  animal. 

"Since  you  been  askin'  me  to  tell  you  what  I 
done  onct  in  the  early  mornin',  I  s'pose  I'll  haft  a," 
Rangy  continued  the  conversation.  "I  don't  s'i>oso 
I'd  remembered,  except  when  I's  deputy  before,  me 
an'  another  gent  most  nigh  as  onnecessary  as  yon, 
was  a  roamin'  about  thisaway  when  I  got  kinda 
lonesome.  I  sorta  forgot  cayuse,  an'  started  to 
whistle,  just  like  this  - 

"  Don't !"  the  other  shrieked  a  hurried  interruption. 

"No.  Perhaps  I  had'n  better.  I's  most  nigh 
forgettin'  again.  Anyways,  I  started  to  whistle, 
an'  yeller  cayuse,  he  don't  know  much  about  music, 
so  he  jest  naturally  thought  of  'at  meal  a  runnin' 
away  from  him.  I  remembers  now.  That's  how 


RANGY    PETE  99 

I  lost  my  job  as  deputy.  Wanta  see  how  li'l  cayuse 
does  it,  Mr.  Buzzard?" 

"I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  Buzzard  Flynn 
returned  hastily. 

Rangy  Pete  made  a  chuckling  noise  in  his  throat, 
but  Mr.  Buzzard  Flynn,  mistaking  that  for  a  further 
manifestation  of  insanity,  quickened  his  pace  as  he 
led  the  way  up  the  draw. 


CHAPTER    IV 

As  he  made  his  way  through  the  darkness,  within 
arm's  length  of  the  stumbling  Buzzard,  Rangy  Pete's 
brain  was  keenly  alert.  That  is  why  he  began  to 
toy  with  the  future,  and  why  he  succeeded  only  in 
startling  himself. 

He  knew  quite  well  the  direction  hi  which  they 
were  feeling  their  way,  and  that  brought  with  it 
two  distinct  sources  for  alarm.  This  route  was 
leading  directly  into  the  buttes,  and  if  there  really 
were  a  bandit  rendezvous  tucked  away  somewhere 
in  the  heart  of  the  butte  lands,  it  would  not  be  a 
particularly  difficult  thing  for  Buzzard  Flynn  to 
lead  him  fairly  into  it. 

The  Buzzard,  he  could  see,  was  making  his  way 
confidently,  and  as  swiftly  as  the  handicaps  of  the 
night  would  permit,  in  a  well  defined  direction; 
and  that  spoke  of  an  assured  purpose  in  the  Buzzard's 
mind.  With  care,  Buzzard  Flynn  might  spring  a 
trap  upon  him;  but  that  was  the  least  alarming 
feature  of  the  situation. 

For  the  course  which  Flynn  was  taking  led 
straight  towards  the  Pelican  draw.  And  hours  ago 
he,  Rangy  Pete,  had  seen  Jumbo  Irish  riding  swiftly 

100 


RANGY    PETE  101 

and  arrow-like  in  that  same  direction.  The  thought 
of  that  was  a  frightening  thing. 

"Where  is  this  blue-eyed  person?"  Rangy 
demanded,  with  such  sudden  intensity  of  manner 
that  Buzzard  Flynn's  answer  was  almost  mechan- 
ical. 

"She  is  over  here  hi  one  of  these  other  draws," 
he  informed  hastily.  "That  is  what  we  arranged. 
We  left  the  main  party  one  at  a  time,  and  then, 
after  hiding  out  for  the  night,  we  know  right  where 
to  meet  tomorrow,  or  the  next  day  — 

"Don't  yammer  your  head  off.  What  draw  is 
she  in?  Tell  me  that." 

Rangy's  interruption  was  an  impatient  one,  and 
it  encouraged  a  prompt  response. 

"  She's  hiding  in  the  Pelican  draw  —  " 

"Goin'  to  stay  there  all  night?"  Rangy's  inter- 
jection was  more  fevered  still.  "Was  she  going  to 
camp  the  same  as  you?" 

"Ain't  that  what  I  been  telling  you?" 

"Then  mooch  along.  Show  some  speed."  Rangy 
issued  his  instructions  with  an  intensity  which 
astonished  himself. 

There  was  so  much  intensity  in  his  manner  that 
he  wondered  just  why  it  was  there.  He  wondered 
why  he  should  object  to  Jumbo  Irish  taking  the 
prize  which  he  had  allotted  to  himself.  When  he 
thought  of  the  blue-eyed  bandit  falling  into  the 
hands  of  Jumbo,  a  warm  flush  of  anger  rose  to  his 


102  RANGY    PETE 

cheeks  and  rested  there  for  many  minutes  while  he 
drove  the  Buzzard  along  with  furious  stride. 

Yet  when  he  grew  more  calm  it  was  difficult  to 
understand  just  why  his  emotions  should  have 
risen  at  all.  Judged  with  a  calmly  measuring  brain, 
there  was  not  a  reason  in  the  world  why  a  woman 
who  played  the  role  of  a  bandit  should  be  any  more 
free  from  punishment  than  a  man;  yet—  Was  it 
that  he  himself  had  wanted  to  be  the  means  of 
inflicting  that  punishment?  No,  it  could  not  have 
been  that,  for  such  a  thought  left  him  more  angry 
still. 

Just  what  had  brought  him  here  anyway?  Though 
Rangy  pondered  that  point  through  many  minutes, 
he  failed  to  find  a  satisfying  answer.  Yet,  in  the 
lack  of  an  answer,  why  should  he  feel  resentment 
towards  Jumbo  Irish  taking  the  blue-eyed  bandit 
back  to  Triple  Butte? 

For  Rangy  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  Jumbo's 
efficiency.  Nor  had  he  the  least  thought  that  Jumbo 
would  tarry  long  in  the  winning  of  that  stack  of 
fifty  yellow  boys. 

The  Pelican  draw,  he  knew,  was  miles  closer  than 
his  own  position  to  that  spot  where  he  had  parted 
from  Jumbo  Irish  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
and  when  he  recalled  that  fact,  Rangy  felt  the  fever 
burning  in  his  veins  once  more.  Beyond  doubt,  Irish 
would  already  be  on  his  way  back  to  Triple  Butte 
with  the  female  bandit  as  his  captive. 


RANGY    PETE  103 

•  •  • 

And  whatever  may  have  been  his  plans  for  the 
future,  that  had  not  been  within  the  range  of  his 
calculations.  A  brave  show  he  and  Triple  Butte 
would  make,  to  capture  the  one  woman  in  the  band, 
while  the  real  renegades  slipped  through  the  net! 
And  Jumbo  Irish,  he  knew,  would  have  no  such 
thoughts  of  compunction.  For  Jumbo's  brain  would 
be  toying  only  with  that  wager  of  fifty  yellow  boys. 

"Faster!"  Rangy 's  voice  prodded  Buzzard  Flynn 
into  a  still  more  rapid  stride;  yet  what  he  hoped  to 
gain  by  it  was  more  than  Rangy  knew. 

Still,  there  was  just  the  one  chance. 

"You  know  where  she  was  goin'  to  camp?"  he 
asked  with  an  anxiety  which  he  kept  from  his  voice. 

"Sure  thing,"  the  Buzzard  informed.  "I'll  lead 
you  right  to  the  place,  if  you'll  trade  me  for  her." 

That  chance,  Rangy  knew,  was  that  Jumbo  Irish, 
confident  in  his  capture  and  in  the  shorter  miles  to 
Triple  Butte,  might  wait  until  daylight  for  the 
making  of  the  return  trip.  And  if  that  were  so  — 

"You  trade  me  for  her?"  Buzzard's  voice  repeated, 
for  Flynn,  quick  to  sense  the  unusual  in  the  other's 
manner,  was  beginning  to  fancy  that  he  could  see 
the  gleam  of  a  way  through  his  own  immediate 
problem. 

All  madmen,  Buzzard  knew,  have  wide  chinks  in 
their  armor,  and  fortune  had  played  into  his  hands 
most  shrewdly  in  showing  him  the  weakness  of  this 
lunatic  behind  him.  He  could  see  now  that  his  onlv 


104  RANGY    PETE 

hope  was  to  encourage  the  capture  of  the  female 
rider;  then,  after  he  had  been  set  free,  and  while 
this  elongated  strip  of  humanity  was  devoting  his 
attention  to  his  new  captive,  he,  Buzzard,  would 
make  a  display  of  that  talent  which  had  won  him 
his  name.  He  would  poach  upon  the  other,  remove 
a  dangerous  lunatic,  and  at  the  same  time  win  the 
gratitude  of  Blue  Eyes.  The  farther  Buzzard 
tramped,  the  more  he  became  enthused  for  carrying 
out  his  portion  of  the  program.  Luck,  which 
but  a  short  time  ago  appeared  to  have  deserted  him, 
was,  in  reality,  with  him  all  the  time. 

Rangy  Pete  suddenly  laughed  aloud. 

"Shore  I'll  trade  you  for  Blue  Eyes,"  he  pro- 
claimed; and  he  wondered  at  the  chuckle  way  down 
in  the  throat  of  Buzzard  Flynn. 

That,  Rangy  fancied  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
would  be  his  course.  If  this  one  chance  should  win 
out  and  Jumbo  Irish  were  still  in  the  Pelican  draw, 
then  he  would  trade  Buzzard  Flynn  for  Blue  Eyes. 
The  idea  was  such  an  engrossing  one  that  he  scarcely 
noticed  the  miles  slipping  behind  him;  he  was  only 
dimly  conscious  that  they  had  made  a  hair-pin  turn 
and  were  now  traveling  down  the  Pelican  draw 
towards  Triple  Butte.  Somewhere  along  this 
boulder-strewn  course  which  twisted  its  way  out  to 
the  plains  would  be  Blue  Eyes  and  Jumbo  Irish; 
or  would  it  be  the  main  body  of  the  Dervishers? 

The  eager  strides  of  the  Buzzard  seemed  a  remote 


RANGY    PETE  105 

hint  that  the  latter  might  be  the  case;  but  that,  he 
believed,  would  be  hardly  possible.  The  Dervishers, 
thorn  though  they  were  in  the  flesh  of  the  plains, 
would  scarcely  have  the  daring  to  reform  at  a 
point  so  near  Triple  Butte,  unless,  by  chance,  their 
work  with  that  sun-slumbering  center  had  not  been 
finished  and  they  were  planning  another  sally  to 
complete  it. 

From  that  point  forward  Rangy  went  more 
cautiously.  He  checked  the  pace  of  the  Buzzard 
and  divided  his  contemplation  of  the  future  with  a 
sharp  outlook  in  all  directions. 

Yes,  in  some  way  or  other  he  must  trade  Buzzard 
Flynn  for  Blue  Eyes. 

Then  a  sort  of  mental  panic  gripped  him. 

For  the  impossibility  of  making  an  open  trade 
with  Jumbo  Irish  and  still  retaining  any  secrecy  for 
his  motives  —  whatever  the  future  might  decide 
them  to  be  —  occurred  to  him  abruptly  as  an  almost 
insuperable  obstacle.  Jumbo,  plainsman  that  he 
was,  ready-tongued,  ready-muscled  and  keen-witted, 
might  make  the  exchange  for  a  consideration;  but 
after  that,  what  then?  His  tongue  could  be  stilled, 
perhaps.  But  only  if  Rangy  rode  back  to  Triple 
Butte  with  the  woman  as  his  captive. 

And  was  that  any  part  of  the  purpose  which  had 
brought  him  here? 

That  point  was  still  undetermined  when  Rangy 
noticed  that  the  Buzzard's  stride  was  slackening. 


106  RANGY    PETE 

"She  can't  be  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away," 
the  Buzzard  confided.  "I'm  giving  you  the  straight 
stuff,  Mister,  and  if  Blue  Eyes  doesn't  happen  to 
be  there,  don't  you  go  getting  excited.  If  she  ain't 
there,  you  make  allowance  for  a  woman  not  doing 
what  you  expect  of  her.  You  come  back  and  take 
the  ropes  off  me,  and  we'll  hunt  her  together." 

Rangy  Pete  made  a  guttural  noise  which  may 
have  been  compliance  or  refusal;  he  completed  cer- 
tain rope  work  which  left  Buzzard  Flynn  anchored 
to  a  huge  boulder;  then  he  began  to  contemplate 
the  darkened  draw  before  him. 

The  mam  body  of  the  Dervishers,  or  Jumbo  Irish, 
or  a  vacant  camp  —  which  would  it  be?  Rangy 
returned,  inserted  a  knotted  kerchief  between 
Buzzard's  lips,  and  whispered  his  instructions. 

"Don't  you  go  talking  to  the  stars  while  I'm 
gone,"  he  admonished.  "If  I  hear  anything  like 
that,  it's  apt  to  make  my  head  go  wrong  again, 
and  I  might  forget  I'm  a  deputy." 

As  he  slipped  away  into  the  darkness,  he  noticed 
that  the  Buzzard  was  shivering  slightly;  but 
that  was  not  the  problem  which  concerned  him 
now. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  down  the  draw,  Flynn  had 
said.  So  the  next  few  minutes  might  decide  if  this 
were  a  trap,  or  if  Jumbo  Irish  had  already  started 
for  Triple  Butte  with  his  captive. 

Foot  by  foot  he  felt  his  way  through  the  blackness. 


RANGY    PETE  107 

with  every  sense  strained  to  read  even  the  faintest 
of  tokens. 

Presently,  at  his  left,  the  light  stamping  of  feet! 
That  would  be  horses,  restless,  feeling  his  presence. 
And  their  number  would  be  an  important  thing. 

Rangy  Pete  removed  his  boots  and  placed  them 
behind  a  boulder.  Then  once  more  he  crept  forward, 
on  hands  and  knees.  Shortly,  before  him  in  the 
darkness,  there  loomed  the  outlines  of  the  animals. 

A  wave  of  gratitude  swept  over  him.  For  there 
were  but  the  two  horses,  and  the  story  which  that 
told  him  was  slightly  intoxicating  hi  its  significance. 
Two  horses  meant  Jumbo  Irish  and  Blue  Eyes. 

With  that  surety  before  him  Rangy  Pete  sat 
flat  upon  the  rock  to  ponder  the  future. 

Black  night  was  upon  him,  night  which  conceals 
the  movements  of  man.  It  was  that  consciousness 
of  night  which  in  the  end  brought  the  rift  of  an  idea 
into  Rangy 's  brain  to  shatter  the  outer  shackles  of 
his  problem.  Two  people  in  the  draw  —  Jumbo  and 
Blue  Eyes!  And  Jumbo  Irish,  whatever  else  he 
might  be,  maintained  the  scrupulous  instincts  of  a 
gentleman.  That  would  mean  that  Jumbo,  whether 
awake  or  asleep,  would  be  rigidly  observing  the 
codes  of  mankind,  and  would,  therefore,  be  occupy- 
ing a  position  at  some  little  distance  from  his  captive. 

Rangy  Pete  chuckled  silently. 

The  chance  was  there.  The  way  would  be  open 
to  him  to  take  the  female  bandit  under  his  own 


108  RANGY    PETE 

particular  care,  provided,  of  course,  he  could  feel 
his  way  about  this  draw  with  the  caution  of  an 
animal. 

If  only  Jumbo  were  sound  asleep !    But  if  not  - 
Rangy  shrugged  his  shoulders  through  the  night; 
then  silently  he  began  to  feel  his  way  down  the  draw. 

As  he  worked  his  way  along,  foot  by  foot,  Rangy 's 
ears  were  strained  to  catch  even  the  faintest  sound 
of  life;  but  the  only  whisperings  which  reached  him 
were  the  vague  murmurings  of  the  night. 

There,  before  him,  a  dim  and  huddled  form 
crouching  against  the  growth  of  rock! 

For  a  full  minute  Rangy  watched  that  form,  until 
at  length  it  flopped  an  arm  restlessly  aside.  Fortune 
surely  was  playing  into  his  hands,  for  that  flopping 
arm  could  mean  nothing  but  sleep. 

Jumbo  asleep,  through  the  night  watch!  So  the 
rest  should  be  much  simpler  now. 

This  time  he  crept  forward  more  cautiously  than 
before;  and  he  began  a  slow  and  methodical  search 
of  the  deeper  shadows  at  some  distance  from  that 
huddled  form  under  the  rock. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  in  this  manner,  until 
at  length  Rangy 's  outstretched  fingers  came  into 
contact  with  something  soft  and  yielding  which 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  bare  rock  under  his  knees. 

"A  blanket,"  he  muttered.  "That  shore  means 
that  somebody  is  bedded  down  soft  and  nice.  I'm 
guessing  —  " 


RANGY   PETE  109 

"Go  ahead  and  guess,"  the  answer  came  back  in 
a  cold  whisper,  "but  don't  get  too  near.  I  may  be 
tied,  but  I  can  kick  your  eyes  out  just  the  same.'* 

"Gosh  A'mighty!"  Rangy  exclaimed,  in  a  thick 
whisper.  "It  is  shore  little  Blue  Eyes.  I've  been 
looking  and  looking  for  you,  and  here  you  are  all 
tied  up  like  a  fatted  calf  — 

Rang}'  Pete  paused,  as  he  became  aware  of  a 
slight  gasp  from  the  other.  After  that  there  was  a 
motionless  silence.  Through  that  silence  Rangy 
appreciated  that  the  situation  was,  alter  all,  a 
difficult  one.  He  had  found  it  easy  to  talk  to  Blue 
Eyes  while  she  stood  over  him  with  a  derringer  and 
while  his  hands  were  in  the  air;  but  now,  with  the 
situation  reversed  and  with  darkness  about  them, 
it  was  altogether  different. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  This  time  the  voice  was  obviously 
feminine,  and  there  was  a  marked  relief  back  of 
the  words.  "I  thought  you  were  that  person  who 
roped  me  last  night." 

"No,  Miss,  I  ain't  Jumbo  Irish,  but  he  ain't 
more'n  fifty  yards  away,  so  we  gotta  be  most  awful 
quiet."  Rangy  found  the  words  coming  more  freely. 
"You  don't  know  me  because  it's  dark,  but  you  and 
me  are  old  friends.  We  met  up  this  afternoon. 
Don't  you  remember?  You  kinda  amused  me  by 
letting  me  look  into  the  barrel  of  yore  gun." 

"You're  that  long,  skinny  thing  that  was  standing 
up  against  Ike  Collander's  store?"  the  voice  asked. 


110  RANGY    PETE 

"You  talk  about  as  funny  as  you  look,  and  that's 
the  reason  I  couldn't  forget  you.  Besides,  you're 
the  only  one  I  held  a  gun  on,  for  Collander  doesn't 
count.  But  what  are  you  doing  here?  One  of  the 
posse,  I  suppose?  And  you  want  to  get  the  credit 
for  capturing  a  woman.  You  aren't  satisfied  to  let 
that  other  person  out  there  have  the  credit  - 

"Sh  —  h!  Miss,  you're  like  them  all.  You  talk 
too  much.  But  can  you  walk?" 

"Do  you  suppose  I'd  be  here  if  I  could  have 
walked  away?  No,  that  posse  person  who's  sleeping 
out  there  like  a  hog,  roped  me  up  and  down  and 
across  and  then  tied  me  to  a  rock.  I  haven't  slept 
a  wink." 

"We'll  shore  correct  his  impoliteness,"  Rangy 
returned.  "If  I  take  them  ropes  off  will  you  come 
with  me,  Miss?" 

"  Where  do  you  want  me  to  go? "  the  girl  demanded, 
instantly  on  the  defensive. 

"I  got  a  joke  I  want  to  tell  you  about,  but  I  don't 
want  you  to  laugh  right  here  and  wake  up  Jumbo. 
The  joke  ain't  more'n  hah*  a  mile  up  the  draw,  and 
if  it  don't  make  you  laugh,  Miss,  you  can  cuss  me 
for  five  minutes  and  I  won't  say  a  word  back." 

"  Get  busy.  I'll  go.  Your  company  can't  be  much 
worse  than  the  company  of  that  person  you  call 
Jumbo." 

"You  shore  won't  be  repenting  that  statement," 
Rangy  encouraged  as  he  immediately  applied  himself 


RANGY    PETE  111 

to  the  task  of  removing  the  ropes  which  Jumbo  Irish 
had  applied  so  conscientiously  in  the  interests  of  the 
law. 

"It  mayn't  look  purty,  but  if  yer  takin'  a  tip  from 
this  boy,  you'll  mooch  along  on  yore  hands  and 
knees,  same's  I  do,"  Rangy  suggested  hi  a  whisper, 
when  the  last  of  the  ropes  fell  away. 

Rangy  Pete  promptly  gathered  up  Jumbo's  supply 
of  lariats,  and  he  immediately  began  to  crawl  away 
from  the  scene  of  the  improvised  jail.  He  crawled 
for  two  hundred  yards  before  he  glanced  back  over 
his  shoulder,  but  when  he  did  look  he  was  not  at  all 
surprised  to  find  that  the  girl  was  only  a  few  feet 
behind  him.  Rangy  continued  in  this  manner  for 
another  hundred  yards  until  they  were  past  the 
picketed  horses,  and  when  they  rounded  a  boulder 
large  enough  to  hide  them  from  all  view  he  rose  to 
his  feet,  donned  the  discarded  shoes  and  waited  for 
the  girl. 

"Got  a  match?"  the  girl  demanded  the  moment 
she  arrived  at  Rangy  Pete's  side.  "That  person 
down  there  couldn't  possibly  see  us  now." 

"Shore,"  Rangy  returned.  "Want  the  makin's 
too?" 

"Idiot,"  the  girl  returned,  with  as  much  vigor  as 
a  whisper  would  permit.  "Sit  down  behind  that 
rock  and  give  me  a  match." 

Rangy  Pete  obeyed,  quite  forgetful  that  the 
other  was  in  reality  the  captive.  The  girl  promptly 


112  RANGY   PETE 

struck  the  match,  cupped  it  with  her  hands  until  it 
blazed  freely,  then  she  held  it  close  to  Rangy 's  face, 
and  as  she  held  it  there  she  leaned  forward  and 
peered  intently  into  the  man's  features.  Rangy  Pete 
found  himself  looking  back  into  a  pair  of  intensely 
blue  eyes.  They  were  wide  and  eager  now,  totally 
unconscious  of  his  scrutiny,  and  they  were  evidently 
making  a  hasty  but  adequate  estimate  of  Rangy  Pete. 
Beyond  the  eyes  Rangy  saw  but  little,  though  just 
before  the  match  flared  out  and  plunged  them  back 
into  darkness  he  was  conscious  that  the  shapely 
lines  of  the  chin  which  had  first  drawn  his  attention 
back  in  Triple  Butte  were  extended  to  the  rest  of 
her  somewhat  oval  countenance.  The  riding  hat, 
thrown  back,  revealed  a  rather  tumbled  mass  of 
hair  whose  shade  he  could  not  quite  determine,  but 
which,  he  felt,  was  much  darker  than  that  wisp  of 
straw-colored  braid  which  he  had  seen  once  before. 

"You  sure  are  a  queer  one,"  the  girl  commented, 
immediately  the  darkness  settled  about  them. 
"You're  out  on  a  man-hunt.  There  can't  be  any 
doubt  of  that,  for  you've  got  enough  hardware  on 
you  to  sink  a  schooner.  You  look  almost  human, 
too,  but  you  haven't  taken  ordinary  human  precau- 
tions. Don't  you  know  there  hasn't  been  a  minute 
since  you  untied  those  ropes  when  I  couldn't  have 
let  daylight  into  your  interior?" 

"That  ain't  noways  possible,  Miss,  'cause  it's 
most  mighty  dark  here  - 


RANGY    PETE  113 

"If  you  want  it  straighter,"  the  voice  interrupted, 
"I  mean  I  hid  out  a  gun  on  that  posse  person  when 
he  pretended  to  search  me.  I  sure  got  a  trick, 
Mister  whatever  your  name  is  — 

"Most  folks  call  me  Pete,  Rangy  Pete,  an*  I 
would'n  consider  it  noways  of  a  liberty  if  you  done 
the  same.  But  what's  the  trick,  Miss,  besides 
lookin'  at  a  person  with  them  blue  eyes?" 

"If  you  was  a  Dervisher  I'd  most  probably  shoot 
you  up  for  that,"  the  girl  returned,  quite  unmoved, 
"but  the  minute  that  posse  person  you've  been 
calling  Jumbo  Irish  threw  a  rope  over  me  from 
behind  a  rock,  I  slipped  my  hat  off  so  he  knew  I 
wasn't  any  man.  After  that,  he's  so  modest  he 
didn't  search  me  for  this  gun  I  hid  out  on  him. 
So  you  can  thank  Jumbo  back  there  for  the  fact 
that  I've  got  you  covered  now,  Mr.  Rangy  Pete. 
S'pose  I  was  to  say  to  you,  'Hands  up'?" 

"You  said  that  to  me  once  before  today,  an'  it 
sounded  kinda  nice.  Anything  you  could  say 
would'n  sound  so  bad." 

Through  the  darkness  Rangy  Pete  caught  a 
sound  which  was  suspiciously  like  the  choked-off 
end  of  laughter,  but  when  the  girl  spoke  again  there 
was  no  suggestion  of  mildness  in  the  tones. 

"That  stuff  doesn't  go,  Rangy  Pete.  You  ought 
to  know  that  with  only  one  girl  in  a  camp  of  twenty 
men  I  have  heard  a  whole  lot  nicer  things  than 
that.  It  got  so  bad  once  that  I  had  to  put  up  a  sign 


114  RANGY    FETE 

on  a  tree  —  'Cut  out  the  mush.'  Now  you  had 
just  better  mosey  along  and  remember  that  I  will 
be  right  behind  you  with  the  derringer  trained  on 
your  back." 

''That  shore  is  a  nice  comfortable  feeling,"  Rangy 
returned.  "I'm  kinda  queer  thattaway,  so't  I  don't 
feel  noways  right  unless  they  is  a  gun  trained  on  inc. 
But  remember  if  you  don't  keep  that  derringer 
sorta  under  control  you  won't  never  hear  that  joke 
I'm  gonna  show  you.  You  shoot  me,  Miss,  an' 
I  won't  tell  you  nothin'  more  about  that  li'l  joke 
of  mine." 

"Mooch  along.  I'm  getting  anxious.  But  how 
far  do  you  have  to  go  before  a  joke's  a  joke?" 

"About  a  hah*  mile,  Miss.  You  could'n  noways 
appreciate  it  'less  youse  right  on  the  spot." 

This  time  Rangy  led  the  way  with  less  caution, 
for  he  knew  that  even  though  Jumbo  Irish  did 
come  to  life  and  discover  that  his  captive  had 
vanished,  there  would  be  little  which  Jumbo  could 
do  in  the  darkness  to  regain  his  earlier  position  of 
mastery. 

Shortly  they  arrived  at  the  spot  where  Buzzard 
FJynn  had  been  trussed  up  and  tied  to  a  rock  for 
the  sake  of  security. 

Rangy  stopped  and  asked  the  girl  to  remain 
a  short  distance  away  while  he  advanced  upon 
Buzzard.  The  latter  had  evidently  awaited  Rangy 's 
return  with  some  anxiety,  as  he  lost  no  time  in 


RANGY    PETE  115 

opening  the  conversation  once  Rangy  came  within 
sight. 

"You  find  Blue  Eyes  all  right  just  as  I  told  you?" 
he  demanded  in  a  voice  which  carried  easily  to  the 
girl  waiting  in  the  background. 

"I  gotta  say,  Buzzard,  'at  yer  the  most  honest 
road  agent  I  ever  come  against,"  Rangy  replied. 
"She's  a  campin'  out  just  where  you  told  me  she'd 
be,  an'  it  wa'n't  no  trouble  atoll  to  get  her  — 

Buzzard  Flynn  laughed  with  relief,  and  he 
attempted  to  straighten  himself  from  his  cramped 
position. 

"Fine,"  he  exclaimed.  "Now  that  you've  got  her 
you'd  better  slip  these  ribbons  offen  me  'cause  a 
bargain's  a  bargain." 

"A  bargain  shore  is  a  bargain,"  Rangy  agreed. 
"They  ain't  nobody  can  say  Rangy  Pete  didn't 
live  up  to  his  bargains.  I  told  you,  Buzzard,  'cause 
you  suggested  it,  'at  I'd  trade  you  fer  Blue  Eyes, 
so  I  ain't  gonna  disappoint  nobody  noways  — 

The  balance  of  the  sentence  was  completely  lost 
owing  to  the  vigorous  manner  in  which  the  girl 
precipitated  herself  between  them. 

"Gimme  another  match,  Rangy  Pete,"  she 
demanded.  "I  think  I  recognize  the  voice  of  that 
coyote,  but  I  want  to  make  sure." 

"They  ain't  nothin'  to  make  shore  about,  'cause 
it's  Buzzard  Flynn,"  Rangy  informed.  "  'At's  the 
joke  I  been  tellin'  you  about." 


116  RANGY   PETE 

The  girl  snatched  the  match  which  Rangy 
proffered,  and  she  held  the  blazing  tip  so  close  to 
Buzzard  Flynn's  features  that  he  shrank  back  from 
the  flame. 

"A  joke?"  she  exclaimed  in  anger,  as  she  swung 
about  to  Rangy  Pete.  "I  heard  what  this  coyote 
said.  He  brought  you  to  me  and  now  you're  going 
to  let  him  go  because  you  got  me  - 

The  blue-eyed  person  produced  her  derringer 
with  a  speed  which  aroused  Rangy's  admiration. 
She  presented  it  towards  the  shrinking  form  of 
the  Buzzard,  and  then  at  the  critical  moment  she 
hesitated.  That  also  pleased  Rangy  Pete.  Blue  Eyes, 
it  was  becoming  evident,  was  something  of  the 
rip-ringer  which  he  had  promised  himself  she  would 
be,  but  even  at  that  he  approved  greatly  when 
she  shrank  from  shooting  the  captive  in  cold 
blood. 

"I'd  like  to  do  something  to  that  person,"  she 
spoke  tensely,  "but  I  can't  shoot  him  like  that. 
Mr.  Pete,  take  his  ropes  off.  Give  him  a  gun,  and 
we'll  shoot  it  out." 

"I  ain't  sayin'  but  what  yer  entitled  to  some  of 
yore  feelin's,"  Rangy  soothed,  "but  you  ain't  got 
the  joke  yet.  I  can't  let  you  go  to  punchin'  no  holes 
into  Buzzard  Boy  'cause  him  and  me  has  got  a 
bargain.  He's  to  lead  me  to  yore  campin'  place, 
what  he's  done;  an'  I'm  to  trade  him  for  you,  which 
I'm  gonna  do.  Up  you  get,  Buzzard  Boy.  A  bargain's 


RANGY   PETE  117 

a  bargain,  jest  as  you  been  a  sayin',  an'  I  could'n 
feel  noways  right  if  I  didn't  do  as  I  said.'* 

"Trade  me,  sure.    You  let  me  go." 

"Which  means  'at  I  gotta  put  you  right  where  I 
found  Blue  Eyes,"  Rangy  spoke  quite  mildly.  "You 
shore  can't  have  nothin'  to  kick  about  that.  I 
didn't  find  Blue  Eyes  a  sittin*  here  on  the  rock, 
'cause  I  found  her  a  half  mile  down,  an*  that's  where  I 
gotta  put  you,  er  I  could'n  never  feel  right  no  more." 

"Sounds  all  right,  but  let's  hurry  about  it," 
Buzzard  agreed,  for  it  had  become  evident  to  him 
that  the  strain  of  insanity  in  Rangy  Pete  was 
creeping  again  to  the  surface. 

Buzzard  Flynn  rose  to  his  feet  readily  when 
Rangy  adjusted  the  ropes  to  make  it  possible,  and 
he  was  still  fairly  well  pleased  with  events  until  the 
girl  suddenly  broke  out  into  laughter. 

"I  thought  you'd  get  it  if  you'd  jest  look  the 
right  way,"  Rangy  addressed  her,  ''which  is  a  hull 
lot  better'n  punchin*  this  person's  hide  full  of  onnec- 
essary  holes,  ain't  it,  Miss?" 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  arguing  the  point,"  the 
girl  returned  when  she  had  gained  control  of  her 
laughter,  "and,  Mr.  Pete,  I  want  to  thank  you 
right  now  for  not  letting  me  shoot  him." 

"Don't  mention  it,  Miss.  It  ain't  nothing  at  all. 
I  only  done  it  because  I  didn't  want  to  spoil  yore 
joke.  Now  what  are  you  gonna  do  —  come  with 
me,  or  wait  here  till  I  get  back?" 


118  RANGY    PETE 

"Who  says  I'm  going  to  do  either?"  the  girl 
flashed  back. 

Rangy  Pete  toyed  with  the  tip  of  his  left  ear. 

"That's  just  what  I  been  thinking  about,"  he 
admitted  at  length,  "and  I  don't  know  that  I  can 
answer  the  question,  Miss,  but  if  you  ain't  noways 
in  a  hurry,  it'd  shore  oblige  me  a  whole  lot  if 
you'd  sort  of  hang  around.  I  ain't  got  nothing  to 
say  to  you  but  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  just  the 
same." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Pete.  I'll  stand  without  roping. 
You'll  find  me  here  when  you  get  back.  Here's 
something  that  might  come  in  useful." 

When  Rangy  turned,  he  found  that  the  girl  was 
handing  him  a  bandana  of  firm  texture  and  that 
she  was  making  a  motion  as  though  to  twist  it 
about  Buzzard's  face. 

"You're  shore  thoughtful  of  Buzzard,"  Rangy 
commented  as  he  tied  the  handkerchief  across 
Flynn's  face,  somewhat  to  the  captive's  dismay. 
"Stand  still,  you  Buzzard  Boy.  There's  some 
poison  fog  down  the  draw  a  ways,  and  we  don't 
want  you  to  go  breathing  none  of  that  stuff,  do  we, 
Miss  Blue  Eyes?  Shore  thing,  Buzzard  Boy.  I 
knew  you'd  be  grateful.  I  won't  be  long,  Miss 
Blue  Eyes,  if  you'll  just  wait.  Come  along,  Buzzard. 
March  pronto." 

Rangy  Pete  set  off  through  the  darkness,  prodding 
Buzzard  Flynn  in  front  of  him,  and  reverting  as  he 


RANGY    PETE  119 

went  to  that  slurring  style  of   conversation  which 
was  like  a  mask  before  his  emotions. 

"They's  a  secret  I  gotta  tell  you,  Buzzard," 
Rangy  informed.  "I'm  gonna  put  you  right  where 
I  found  Blue  Eyes,  'cause  I  could'n  never  look  you 
in  the  face  agin  if  I  didn't  do  jest  as  I  promised  I 
would.  Rangy  Pete  don't  say  much,  but  what  he 
says  you  can  take  as  yore  hope  of  Kingdom  Come. 
When  I  found  li'l  Blue  Eyes,  she  was  all  cuddled 
up  nice  and  snug  in  a  blanket,  an'  Buzzard  Boy '11 
shore  like  that  blanket,  'cause  he  ain't  got  none  of 
his  own.  They's  a  lot  of  nice  ropes  all  tied  about 
her  with  the  purtiest  li'l  knots  you  ever  set  eyes  on. 
An'  they's  a  great  big  crool  man  a  sleepin'  like  a 
hawg  about  a  few  steps  away.  He's  an  awful  crool 
man,  Buzzard,  an'  if  I's  you  I'd  hate  most  horrible 
to  wake  him  up.  He's  crool  after  dark,  'cause  he 
once  killed  a  man  at  night  an'  that  give  him  queer 
ideas  in  the  head.  He  ain't  like  me  atoll  —  wha's 
matter,  Buzzard  Boy?  Cold?  S'all  right,  I'll  'skuse 
you  for  not  talkin',  but  as  I's  sayin',  this  here  person 
can't  bear  to  be  wakened  none  at  night.  He  allus 
shoots  when  he's  wakened  at  night,  'cause  he's 
got  the  queer  idea  'at  it's  the  ghost  comin'  back. 
I  told  you  he's  queer  in  the  head,  but  he  shoots 
first  at  night  an'  looks  afterwards.  If  you  don't 
believe  me,  Buzzard,  I  know  of  a  nice  fine  rock  to 
sit  behind  while  you  tries  it  out.  An'  I  shore  would 
like  •{;•?  know  if  Jumbo  can  shoot  straight  when  he 


120  RANGY    PETE 

gets  tliattaway.  If  you  want  to  try  it  out,  Buzzard, 
you  jest  make  a  wee  li'l  bit  of  noise  when  I'm  a 
beddin'  you  down  where  I  found  Blue  Eyes.  But 
if  you  want  to  wait  and  see  him  in  the  mornin' 
when  he  won't  have  no  queer  ideas,  you  jest  creeps 
along  like  a  coyote  —  all  right,  Buzzard,  if  you 
ain't  got  nothin'  more  to  say  we'll  start  to  creepin', 
'cause  the  great  big  crool  man  ain't  far  away  now." 

Rangy  Pete  led  the  way,  creeping  on  hands  and 
knees  as  he  had  done  twice  before,  and  he  found 
that  Buzzard  Flynn  was  remarkably  docile  and 
silent  belu'nd  him.  The  Buzzard's  experiences  during 
the  past  few  hours  with  this  obviously  irrational 
person  had  been  too  varied  to  give  him  any  strong 
desire  to  prolong  their  acquaintance,  so  Buzzard 
was  no  less  silent  than  Rangy  himself  as  they  stole 
towards  the  improvised  jail,  and  as  Rangy  rolled 
the  other  in  the  blanket  which  but  a  short  time  ago 
had  sheltered  the  girl. 

"  That  noise  you  hear  is  the  crool  man  telling  the 
\iorld  that  he's  asleep,"  Rangy  whispered  his 
parting  message. 

With  that  he  stole  away  in  the  darkness.  As  he 
crawled  along  he  listened  carefully  for  any  adver- 
tising of  revolt  on  the  part  of  Buzzard  Flynn;  but 
judging  from  the  vast  silence  about  him,  it  seemed 
that  the  Buzzard  had  been  subdued. 

Then  abruptly,  through  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
from  up  the  Pelican  draw  there  came  a  dull  clatter- 


RANGY   PETE  121 

ing  sound.  Rangy  listened  intently;  then  shortly 
he  gave  an  exclamation  of  dismay. 

"Hoof  beats!"  he  proclaimed.  "Blue  Eyes  has 
gone!" 

For  a  moment  longer  he  listened  until  the  faint 
clattering  died  away,  and  when  he  moved  forward 
in  the  direction  of  his  own  cay  use  it  was  totally 
without  animation. 

The  girl,  he  could  be  positive  now,  had  made 
good  her  opening  to  escape. 

That  was  a  perfectly  obvious  thing  for  her  to  do; 
but  his  consciousness  of  her  act  brought  a  vast, 
inexplicable  loneliness  upon  him. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  one  consoling  feature  of  the  girl's  flight  was 
the  thought  that  his  attitude  towards  her  had  been 
settled.  The  way  was  clear  for  him  to  turn  aside 
from  his  undefined  purpose  and  to  return  to  Triple 
Butte. 

Yet  almost  instantly  that  thought  was  swept 
aside  and  Rangy  found  himself  hurrying  forward 
with  the  warmth  of  conviction  upon  him  that  he 
must  overtake  the  bandit  before  she  had  ridden  too 
far.  He  was  hastening  so  conscientiously  that  he 
almost  collided  with  a  figure  standing  near  the 
burnt-yellow  cayuse.  That  occasioned  an  astonished 
exclamation. 

"I  thought  you'd  gone,"  he  burst  out.  "Heard 
the  horse  — 

"Buzzard's  mount  tried  to  run  away,"  the  blue- 
eyed  one  explained  calmly,  "but  I  caught  it  and 
brought  it  back.  Now,  what  kind  of  a  person  are 
you,  Mr.  Rangy  Pete?" 

Rangy 's  left  hand  put  in  a  few  moments'  work 
with  the  tip  of  his  left  ear,  and  while  that  was  in 
process  he  shuffled  his  feet  backward  and  forward. 

"I  am  just  a  long-shanked  puncher  who  never  has 

122 


RANGY   PETE  123 

anything  to  say  for  himself,"  he  began  a  tentative 
explanation  which  he  found  cut  short  by  a  gesture. 

"I  mean,  are  you  any  good  in  a  fight?"  the  girl 
elaborated  her  demands. 

"Not  a  bit,"  Rangy  replied,  to  conceal  the 
inadequacy  of  his  thoughts;  for  he  felt  that  he 
needed  to  study  this  person  who  should  be,  but 
who  wasn't,  showing  to  him  the  slightest  deference 
as  captor. 

It  was  dark,  with  only  the  light  of  the  stars  to 
dissolve  the  gloom,  and  the  girl  was  standing  there 
calmly,  looking  somewhere  out  into  the  bleakness 
of  the  night  beyond  him.  The  face,  he  could  see 
through  the  smudge  of  star  shine,  was  manifestly 
girlish;  it  was  oval  and  free  of  any  shrewish  contours; 
the  general  lines  told  that.  But  as  for  the  details 
of  her  features,  he  would  have  to  wait  for  the  light 
of  day  to  tell  him  that. 

Finally  the  girl  came  out  of  her  mood  of  abstrac- 
tion and  looked  at  Rangy  Pete  curiously. 

"Which  way  are  we  going?"  she  demanded. 
"Are  you  taking  me  back  to  Triple  Butte?" 

"Triple  Butte  shore  would  be  a  whole  lot  deco- 
rated by  your  presence,"  Rangy  returned  reflectively, 
as  he  busied  himself  with  his  saddle,  "but  if  you 
don't  happen  to  be  riding  that  way,  it  don't  matter. 
Me,  I'm  riding  up  this  draw  and  back  another. 
I  aim  to  hit  Triple  Butte  some  time  in  the  future." 

"Then  I  will  ride  with  you."    The  girl's  decision 


124  RANGY    PETE 

appeared  to  be  an  abrupt  one.  "Lead  the  way, 
Mr.  Pete." 

Rangy  did  lead  the  way  in  a  strange  frame  of 
mind.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  juncture  with 
the  Lone  Shadow  draw  the  early  daylight  was 
filtering  its  way  over  the  tops  of  the  buttes  and 
Rangy  decided  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  determine 
whether  the  morning  light  were  as  complimentary 
to  the  girl  as  the  darkness  had  been. 

Yet  when  he  turned  about  he  experienced  a 
distinct  sense  of  disappointment,  for  during  the 
night  ride  she  had  readjusted  the  mask  about  her 
face. 

"Them  shore  is  fine  things  to  keep  the  sunburn 
off,"  he  commented,  "but  you'd  oblige  me  a  whole 
lot,  Miss,  by  taking  down  the  scenery." 

"Going  to  make  me?"  the  girl  asked  lightly. 

"Hadn't  thought  of  it,"  Rangy  admitted,  "but 
just  the  same  there  ain't  any  piece  of  cloth  ever 
made  could  take  the  place  of  them  cheeks  of  yours." 

"How  do  you  know?"  the  bandit  insisted. 

Rangy  toyed  again  with  his  left  ear. 

"I  don't  know  for  sure,"  he  allowed,  "but  I'm 
hinting  most  awful  hard  to  find  out.  Besides, 
you've  got  a  name  about  you  somewhere." 

The  certain  consciousness  that  he  was  undergoing 
a  rigid  scrutiny  caused  Rangy  to  pause  again.  The 
attitude  of  this  Dervisher,  he  told  himself  through 
that  pause,  was  not  what  it  should  be,  for  there  was 


RANGY    PETE  125 

not  the  faintest  hint  in  the  girl's  manner  that  Rangy 
was  master  of  the  situation.  It  was  even  stronger 
than  that.  It  seemed  almost  as  though  the  female 
bandit  were  intent  upon  some  personal  problem  of 
which  Rangy  Pete  was  only  the  fringe. 

"I'll  go  with  you  a  bit  farther,"  she  declared 
irrelevantly,  at  length.  "Lead  on,  Macduff." 

"You  got  me  wrong,  Miss.  I've  been  explaining 
that  my  name  ain't  Macduff  nor  Mac  nothing. 
But  do  you  mean  that  I  should  head  for  the  buttes 
or  the  Double  K?" 

"Any  place  you  like,  provided  we  get  breakfast. 
I'm  starving." 

"I  got  enough  grub  to  cure  that  feeling,"  Rangy 
informed,  with  a  complete  return  of  confidence,  "so 
we'll  just  be  sloping  it  down  the  draw  to  a  place 
where  there's  a  nice  spring;  and  now  that  we've 
got  started  nice  and  friendly  like,  ain't  you  gonna 
take  off  that  eye  blanket  and  let  me  see  just  how 
homely  you  are?" 

Rangy  waited  for  a  few  yards  of  travel,  but  there 
was  no  response. 

"I've  seen  a  few  women  folk  in  my  time,"  he 
resumed  patiently.  "Some  of  them  has  been  homely, 
and  some  has  been  just  fairish  to  look  at.  Kinda 
wouldn't  hurt  yore  eyes  much,  Miss,  that  is,  if  the 
sun  wasn't  too  bright  and  they  wasn't  too  close. 
I'm  saying,  I've  seen  a  few  homely  ones,  but  I  ain't 
ever  before  run  up  against  one  what  was  so  homely 


126  RANGY    PETE 

she  had  to  wear  an  eye  blanket  in  the  daytime  and 
could  only  take  it  off  at  night.  You'll  excuse  me, 
Miss,  for  saying  that  they  couldn't  grow  them  that 
homely  down  at  Triple  Butte  where  I  come  from, 
though  they've  been  trying  for  a  long  time.  Now 
there's  Shifty  Lizz  down  in  Tony  Burke's  saloon 
who  don't  look  noways  human  unless  a  person's 
had  about  six  or  seven  red-eyes,  and  yet  she  don't 
wear  no  eye  blanket  — 

"Rangy  Pete,  I'm  not  to  be  joshed,"  the  girl 
interrupted.  "The  wearing  of  this  eye  blanket,  as 
you  call  it,  is  a  serious  business.  It  isn't  a  matter 
for  you  to  take  lightly,  Mr.  Pete,  so  if  you  can 
control  your  naturally  silent  disposition  until  we 
have  had  a  taste  of  breakfast,  there  is  just  a  chance 
that  I  may  take  this  mask  off  and  tell  you  my  name." 

Rangy  showed  his  approval  by  urging  the  yellow 
cayuse  into  quicker  action.  He  led  the  way  to  the 
spring  as  rapidly  as  the  cayuse  could  take  the  trail, 
and  he  was  not  in  the  least  alarmed  when  the  blue- 
eyed  rider  dropped  behind. 

Some  few  minutes  later  the  girl  arrived  at  the 
scene  of  his  culinary  efforts,  calmly  seated  herself 
upon  a  rock  and  waited  for  him  to  serve  her.  The 
casual  air  with  which  she  took  up  her  place  betokened 
that  she  was  accustomed  to  receiving  the  ministra- 
tions of  others.  The  ministrations  of  Buzzard 
Flynn  perhaps?  The  thought  of  that  caused  Rangy 
to  poke  the  fire  savagely;  but  when  he  turned 


RANGY    PETE  127 

towards  her  he  managed  to  assume  a  tolerant  grin. 

But  the  frugal  meal  was  not  as  productive  as 
Rangy  had  hoped  it  would  be. 

"The  mask  stays  on,"  she  announced  coolly  at 
the  close,  "but  I  will  meet  you  half  way.  Since  you 
insist  upon  calling  me  something,  you  may  as  well 
say  Miss  Dick  as  anything  else —  " 

"Gosh  A'mighty!"  Rangy 's  astonished  voice 
broke  in — "but  excuse  me,  Miss." 

"  I  was  going  to  add  that  I  will  take  off  my  mask 
upon  one  condition  only,"  Miss  Dick  resumed, 
totally  ignoring  the  interruption.  "I  find  that  I  will 
need  some  help  in  a  little  undertaking." 

Rangy  nodded  encouragingly. 

"You  couldn't  have  come  to  a  better  party," 
he  admitted  modestly,  "not  if  you  had  looked  all 
over  the  State.  But  what's  the  condition?" 

"I  will  take  off  my  mask  when  you  have  done 
something  which  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  do," 
she  decreed,  as  her  eyes  studied  Rangy's  features 
shrewdly. 

Rangy  merely  nodded  for  her  to  proceed. 

"I  want  you  to  go  back  to  Triple  Butte  with  me 
and  help  me  to  get  some  evaporated  apples  - 

"  My  Gawd ! "  Rangy  exclaimed  fervently.  "  You'll 
have  to  excuse  me  this  time,  Miss  Dick,  but  them 
Vaporated  apples  are  laying  their  lasso  over  my 
angora.  You  got  the  Vaporated  apple  habit,  too?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  evaporated   apple 


128  RANGY    PETE 

habit?"  Miss  Dick  demanded.    "This  is  no  joke." 

"I  ain't  noways  likely  to  call  it  a  joke,"  Rangy 
hastened  to  assure.  "If  it  hadn't  been  for  them 
apples,  Merrill  wouldn't  have  started  after  you 
road  agents  yesterday.  He  thought  it  was  a  heap  of 
fun  for  Triple  Butte  to  be  held  up  until  he  heard 
about  these  apples  being  stole - 

Miss  Dick  interrupted  with  a  quick  nod  of  her 
head. 

"If  you  look  at  it  that  way,"  she  decided,  "I  am 
afraid  I  have  the  evaporated  apple  habit  the  same 
as  Dan  Merrill.  Now,  Mr.  Pete,  when  do  you 
think  would  be  the  best  time  to  get  that  other  box?" 

Rangy  began  to  toy  absently  with  the  tip  of  his 
left  ear  and  when  he  looked  at  the  girl  it  was  with  a 
certain  wavering  of  doubt. 

"The  other  box?"  he  repeated  vaguely.  "I  don't 
understand  how  you  come  to  sow  them  apples  all 
over  the  trail  yesterday  and  yet  be  hankering  to 
get  back  to  Triple  Butte  for  more.  That  box  didn't 
have  a  hole  in  it,  did  it?" 

It  seemed  that  the  eyes  behind  the  mask  grew  a 
trifle  more  friendly. 

"It  isn't  that,"  Miss  Dick  explained  carefully, 
"but  those  apples  we  got  yesterday  were  not  quite 
the  right  thing.  When  you  have  the  evaporated 
apple  habit,  Mr.  Pete,  it  doesn't  take  long  to  tell 
the  difference.  We  got  the  wrong  box." 

"And  you  don't  mean  to  say  you're  going  back 


RANGY    PETE  129 

for  the  right  one?  "  Rangy  demanded,  quite  caught 
off  his  guard. 

Miss  Dick  nodded  her  assurance. 

"Exactly  what  I  am  going  to  do,"  she  pronounced 
confidently.  "Why  else  do  you  think  I  stayed  over 
there  in  the  Pelican  draw  where  any  stray  puncher 
might  run  across  me?  Perhaps  I  had  better  go 
alone,  after  all." 

Rangy  Pete  hastened  to  lay  his  services  at  the 
lady's  feet. 

"Go  alone?"  he  hurried  to  decry  her  intent. 
"Sakes  alive,  woman,  you  might  just  as  well  stand 
in  front  of  a  stampede.  I  know  that  little  old  joint 
of  Triple  Butte,  and  it'll  be  swarming  like  a  beehive. 
No  you  don't,  Miss,  step  into  that  hive  alone. 
Besides,  I  know  right  where  the  other  box  is." 

It  almost  appeared  that  Miss  Dick  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief,  though  for  a  time  she  devoted  her  attention 
exclusively  to  Rangy 's  culinary  efforts. 

"So  there  is  another  box?"  she  reflected  absently. 
"How  do  you  know  that,  Mr.  Pete?" 

Still  Rangy  Pete's  guard  was  so  wide  open  that 
he  lost  no  time  in  reciting  the  details  of  his  rather 
disastrous  sign-painting,  and  when  these  facts  had 
been  faithfully  retold,  he  paused  long  enough  to 
bask  for  a  moment  in  the  softened  glow  which 
seemed  to  shine  from  the  girl's  eyes. 

"There's  something  I  don't  understand,"  he 
conceded,  "but  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  find  the 


130  RANGY    PETE 

whole  of  Triple  Butte  and  the  half  of  Merrill's 
punchers  standing  guard  over  them  apples.  That 
means  taking  them  out  from  under  the  noses  of 
about  fifty-sixty  men  —  not  counting  the  Double  K 
or  the  Triangle  O  boys  who  may  come  shoving  in. 
It's  funny,  Miss,  how  the  folks  back  in  Triple  Butte 
ain't  nohow  set  on  stealing.  They've  got  what  you 
might  call  primitive  prejudices  about  it,  and  it 
ain't  so  long  ago  that  a  fellow  out  there  got  his  neck 
all  tangled  up  with  a  lariat  on  account  of  stealing. 
All  he  took  was  about  twenty-thirty  horses,  which 
ain't  nothing  like  stealing  a  box  of  Dan  Merrill's 
'vaporated  apples  - 

"Afraid?"  the  girl's  voice  was  cold  and  distant. 
"Very  well,  I  am  sure  I  can  manage  it  alone.  All 
I  ask  is  that  you  don't  warn  the  people  that  I  am 
coming." 

The  situation,  from  the  standpoint  of  Rangy  Pete, 
was  an  unprecedented  one.  It  occasioned  him  a 
cautious  side  glance  at  the  girl's  masked  face  in  the 
hope  of  determining  the  extent  of  her  sincerity,  but 
all  he  could  see  definitely  was  the  firm  set  of  the 
chin  and  the  cold  glow  of  the  blue  eyes  shining  from 
beyond  that  annoying  fold  of  cloth.  From  that 
he  decided  there  was  not  the  slightest  suggestion  of 
frivolity  in  the  girl's  face. 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  not  wanting  to  eat  Ike 
Collander's  chopped  pig-skin,"  he  affirmed  his  faith 
at  length.  "Ike  ought  to  be  strung  up  for  keeping 


RANGY    PETE  131 

that  kind  of  stuff  around,  so,  Miss  Dick,  if  you  want 
to  get  some  of  the  sure-enough  'vaporated  apples 
that  Dan  Merrill  brings  in,  I'm  with  you." 

To  emphasize  the  point,  Rangy  extended  a 
calloused  hand  across  the  rock  which  took  the 
place  of  a  table  between  them.  The  girl  responded 
with  a  quick,  firm  grip  of  the  fingers;  and  with  the 
touch  of  the  hand  within  his  he  suddenly  felt  the 
hot  coursing  of  blood  running  riot  within  him,  yet 
when  he  dropped  her  hand  Miss  Dick  appeared 
totally  unconscious  of  that  swift  flash  of  emotion 
within  him. 

"We  will  wait  until  dark,"  she  decreed.  "Now 
if  you  will  keep  watch  I  will  get  a  little  sleep.  You 
can  take  your  turn  this  afternoon." 

Rangy  shook  his  head  reflectively  as  the  girl 
made  her  way  into  the  shadow  land  of  the  buttes, 
and  in  time  he  started  to  grumble  to  himself. 

"All  settled,  just  like  that,"  he  muttered.  "Who's 
running  this  show,  anyway?  Here  I  come  chasing 
bandits  and  before  I  know  it  the  bandit's  got  me 
picked  out  for  emergency  work.  Miss  Dick,  you 
mayn't  know  it,  but  you  got  such  convincing  ways 
that  if  you'd  go  to  the  gospel  flail's  tent  in  Triple 
Butte  and  lend  him  a  hand,  you'd  have  them  hitting 
the  sawdust  trail  so  fast  they'd  wear  out  the  track." 


CHAPTER   VI 

As  the  events  of  the  afternoon  proclaimed,  it  was 
really  Miss  Dick  who  held  the  controlling  hand. 
Around  noonday,  while  the  rays  of  the  sun  were 
still  blistering  their  way  over  the  tops  of  the  buttes, 
the  girl  reappeared  from  her  retreat  in  the  shadow 
land  and  gave  him  rather  definite  instructions  about 
taking  a  nap  and  making  himself  fit  for  the  work 
of  the  night. 

He  paused  only  long  enough  to  attempt  to  impros 
upon  Miss  Dick  the  folly  of  the  enterprise.  Triple 
Butte,  he  had  learned  by  experience  and  observa- 
tion, could  sleep  as  soundly  as  any  other  inhabited 
portion  of  the  world,  but,  once  awakened,  it  could  be 
decidedly  peevish  towards  those  who  had  broken 
in  upon  its  vacuum  of  thought  and  effort. 

And  Dan  Merrill  of  the  Snaky  Y,  besides  being 
peevish,  could  be  vindictive. 

"Two  or  three  nights  from  now  would  be  a  whole 
lot  better,"  Rangy  tried  to  temper  the  girl's  imme- 
diate enthusiasm  for  evaporated  apples;  but  his 
efforts  were  only  met  by  a  decided  shake  of  the  head. 

Miss  Dick,  it  was  obvious,  had  not  altered  her 
mind  in  the  least  about  her  hurried  return  to  that 
center  of  awakened  somnolence,  and  no  amount  of 

132 


RANGY    PETE  133 

talk  about  Triple  Butte's  lack  of  hospitality  towards 
any  member  of  the  Dervishers  appeared  to  make 
upon  her  the  least  impression. 

Rangy  contended  the  point  with  some  vigor,  and 
when  he  finally  stretched  out  in  a  sheltered  spot  at 
the  foot  of  the  buttes  he  was  somewhat  astonished 
to  find  that  it  was  concern  for  the  girl's  safety  which 
had  compelled  his  attitude.  That  was  a  matter 
difficult  to  understand,  but  Rangy  attempted  to 
put  it  from  him  with  the  explanation  that  Miss  Dick 
was  really  his  prisoner  and  that  while  she  was  in 
his  custody  it  was  simply  his  duty  to  protect  her 
from  all  possible  harm.  That  thought  was  so  com- 
forting that  he  had  only  a  vague  wonder  if  the  girl 
would  this  time  take  advantage  of  her  opportunity 
to  escape.  It  was  a  flitting  thought  which  came  at 
the  last  moment  before  he  fell  into  slumber,  and 
which  did  not  in  the  least  disturb  the  peacefulness 
of  his  dreams.  Those  dreams  were  rather  about  the 
perversity  of  the  prisoner,  who  persisted  in  dragging 
him  into  an  undertaking  which  might  prove  dan- 
gerous to  both  of  them,  and  who,  it  appeared  through 
his  fancy,  clung  to  him  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to 
cast  her  aside. 

Rangy's  dreams,  strangely  enough,  had  a  lot  to 
do  with  the  queerness  of  Miss  Dick,  so  it  seemed 
quite  natural  that  he  should  abruptly  find  himself 
in  the  half-way  land  between  slumber  and  wakeful- 
ness  and  with  the  girl  actually  tugging  at  his 


134  RANGY   PETE 

shoulders.  The  first  thought  which  came  to  him 
was  that  she  was  using  his  sleep  as  a  chance  to  rope 
him;  but  to  what  end  his  laboring  brain  did  not  say. 

Then  almost  instantly  he  knew  that  theory  must 
be  a  warped  one,  for  Miss  Dick,  in  addition  to  tug- 
ging at  his  shoulders,  was  shaking  him  vigorously 
and  was  whispering  some  keenly  pitched  words. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Pete,  hurry,"  she  was 
exclaiming;  "they're  not  ten  minutes  away  from  us." 

Rangy  sat  up  suddenly  and  his  functioning  brain 
swept  out  of  its  miasmic  vapors  into  the  immediate 
present. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded,  as  his 
roving  eye  swept  the  full  arc  of  the  compass.  "  Who 
are  you  talking  about?" 

"A  party  of  men,  twenty  or  thirty,  or  more. 
They  are  riding  our  way.  See  that  big  ridge  in  the 
draw  back  towards  the  Pass?  They  swept  over 
that  not  a  minute  ago  - 

"You  sure?"  Rangy  insisted,  though  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  even  as  he  spoke. 

For  there  could  be  but  the  one  significance  to  the 
presence  of  a  party  of  men  riding  down  upon  them 
from  the  direction  of  the  butte  lands.  It  would  be 
the  riders  of  the  plains  returning  from  their  pursuit 
of  the  Dervishers  and  combing  this  draw  in  the 
search  for  strays.  As  for  himself  it  did  not  matter. 
But  Miss  Dick?  She  would  be  one  of  those  strays 
who  would  be  welcomed  by  the  feverish  punchers 


RANGY    PETE  135 

from  the  Snaky  Y  and  by  the  awakened  battlers 
of  Triple  Butte. 

"We  shore  will  hurry,"  he  decided,  as  he  noticed 
the  tightness  about  the  girl's  lips.  "Throw  the 
things  together  while  I  catch  that  cayuse  of  mine." 

The  matter  of  saddling  and  mounting  was  but  a 
brief  interval  snatched  from  time,  yet  when  Rangy 
once  more  returned  to  Miss  Dick  he  found  that  she 
was  ready  to  ride  at  his  side. 

With  barely  a  comment  Rangy  Pete  led  the  way 
swiftly  down  the  draw  and  when  they  came  to  the 
first  ridge  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  uncharted 
trail  behind  them,  he  paused  long  enough  to  study 
the  tangled  course  which  they  had  just  followed. 

"You're  right,  Miss  Dick,"  he  agreed,  "that  shore 
is  a  big  party  of  riders  back  there,  and  —  what  a 
lubber  I  am!" 

A  sharp  ejaculation  of  disgust  accompanied  this 
outburst,  for  Rangy  had  become  painfully  aware  of 
the  fact  that  this  ridge,  in  addition  to  providing 
them  with  an  observation  tower,  was  threatening 
to  prove  their  downfall.  For  now  he  knew  that  the 
figures  of  himself  and  the  girl  must  be  clearly  sil- 
houetted against  the  skyline;  and  his  consciousness 
of  that  became  an  undoubted  fact  when  that  cluster 
of  riders  in  the  far  background  were  seen  to  swing 
into  closer  contact  and  then  pause  as  though 
startled. 

But  almost  instantly  they  spurred  forward  at  a 


136  RANGY    PETE 

sharper  pace,  and  when  Rangy  Pete  saw  that,  he 
looked  at  the  girl  uncertainly. 

"They're  after  us,  all  right,"  Miss  Dick  pro- 
nounced calmly.  "  Is  there  any  speed  in  that  yellow 
cayuse  of  yours?  Thank  goodness,  it  will  soon  be 
dark.  If  we  can  only  hold  them  until  dark  - 

"That's  what  we've  got  to  do,"  Rangy  decided 
instantly.  "This  yellow  boy  isn't  a  world  champion, 
but  he  can  stay  with  it  all  day,  and  that  counts. 
That  bunch  of  riders  can't  be  more  than  a  mile 
behind,  and  there  isn't  a  single  offshoot  from  this 
draw  between  here  and  the  plains  which  doesn't 
lead  into  a  blind  corner.  Mass  Dick,  it's  a  case  of 
race  it  out." 

The  girl  nodded  swiftly  and  through  the  slits 
in  her  mask  Rangy  caught  a  glimpse  of  shining 
eyes  which  seemed  to  have  grown  into  hard  points 
of  aurelian  blue.  They  were  firm  and  clear  and 
almost  dazzling,  and  in  that  instant  it  even  appeared 
to  Rangy  Pete  that  there  was  a  fever  of  excitement 
in  her  veins  which  brought  with  it  a  thrill  of  glad- 
ness. Because  of  that,  he  wondered  if  the  girl  were 
really  elated  at  the  prospect  of  this  mad  dash  for 
freedom. 

While  he  thought  of  that,  they  rode  swiftly  down 
the  draw,  out  towards  the  borderland  of  plains  and 
buttes,  into  that  land  of  shadows  which  had  given 
this  draw  its  name;  and  as  they  left  the  miles  behind 
them,  catching  from  time  to  time  a  glimpse  of  the 


RANGY    PETE  137 

racing  pursuers,  Rangy  became  conscious  of  the 
strangeness  of  the  situation. 

"Why  didn't  you  slope  it  away  alone  when  you 
first  saw  them  coming?"  he  asked  at  length.  "You 
know  it  isn't  me  they're  after." 

Again  the  girl  looked  at  him  with  those  curious, 
dazzling  lights  in  her  eyes  which  spoke  of  the 
grateful  thrill  of  excitement.  •  That  made  him  wonder 
still  more  at  the  problem  of  Miss  Dick.  Discretion 
and  common  sense,  he  felt,  should  prompt  him  to 
recognize  that  there  are  certain  legal  codes  which 
are  as  inevitable  as  life  itself,  and  to  admit  to  himself 
that  the  law  of  the  plains  was  a  hundred  times  more 
swift  and  sure  than  any  code  of  the  law  which  had 
yet  penetrated  as  far  as  Triple  Butte. 

Subconsciously,  in  the  back  of  his  brain,  Rangy 
knew  the  interpretation  which  those  trouble-lusting 
riders  of  the  Snaky  Y  would  put  upon  any  associa- 
tion with  the  Dervishers,  particularly  when  goaded 
on  by  the  fire-breathing  spirit  of  Dan  Merrill,  and 
there  were  men  among  the  crew  of  the  Snaky  Y, 
chiefly  Bill  Sonnes  and  Merrill  himself,  who  would 
be  keen  to  fix  upon  him  any  calumny  which  chance 
provided.  And  here  it  was,  ready  made  for  their 
hands. 

Down  the  lower  slopes  of  the  butte  land  draw 
they  raced,  and  in  the  far  distance  they  could  catch 
glimpses  of  the  chaparral-strewn  plain  in  the  shadows 
beyond.  Behind  them  was  that  dashing  cluster  of 


138  RANGY    PETE 

horsemen,  more  strung  out  than  when  first  they  had 
been  sighted,  but  riding  swiftly  and  furiously  in  the 
pursuit. 

"They're  gaining,"  Rangy  pronounced  solemnly, 
as  they  reached  a  crest  in  the  trail  which  looked 
down  into  a  barren  area  of  tumbled  rock  stretching 
between  them  and  the  fringes  of  the  plains.  "  They've 
closed  up  an  eighth  of  a  mile  on  us.  What's  wrong 
with  that  horse  of  yours,  Miss  Dick?" 

"Stepped  on  a  rolling  stone,"  the  girl  explained 
gravely,  and  Rangy  was  conscious  that  her  eyes  now 
sought  out  his.  When  their  glances  met,  he  could 
be  quite  certain  that  some  of  the  sparkle  had  gone 
and  that  silently  she  was  putting  before  him  the 
problem  of  her  escape. 

"He'll  be  better  in  a  few  minutes,"  Miss  Dick 
declared  hopefully;  but  as  the  minutes  slipped  away, 
it  became  too  evident  that  improvement  in  the 
animal's  condition  was  lacking. 

That  rolling  stone  had  stripped  from  them  the 
thin  margin  of  advantage  which  had  been  theirs. 

For  a  time,  as  he  rode,  Rangy  glanced  anxiously 
over  his  shoulder,  then  he  studied  the  far  spaces 
towards  which  they  were  racing,  as  though  seeking 
to  measure  the  elements  of  fact  and  chance.  Quite 
plainly,  Miss  Dick  was  now  relying  upon  him;  and 
just  as  plainly,  another  hour's  riding  at  their  present 
rate  would  see  the  foremost  rider  of  that  party  of 
punchers  within  fair  gunshot  of  them  —  unless,  of 


RANGY    PETE  139 

course,  Miss  Dick's  mount  improved;  but  if  it  should 
suddenly  become  worse — ? 

Rangy  Pete  shook  his  head  anxiously. 

The  shadows  of  night  were  beginning  to  settle 
about  them;  on  the  plains  they  would  be  deeper  still; 
and  off  there,  before  them,  rather  better  than  an 
hour's  ride  away,  was  Triple  Butte. 

Yet  what  was  to  be  gained  by  riding  into  Triple 
Butte?  No,  it  was  to  be  a  iratter  of  wits  now. 

"Listen,  Miss  Dick,"  Rangy  spoke  quickly,  as  he 
drew  his  horse  closer  to  the  girl.  "This  isn't  a  very 
purty  box  that  we've  stepped  into.  With  that 
animal  of  yours  holding  down  our  speed,  that  herd 
of  punchers  is  about  due  to  be  pumping  bullets  at 
us  about  a  few  minutes  before  it  gets  so  dark  they 
can't  see  to  shoot.  If  it  got  dark,  we'd  sure  give  them 
the  slip  in  the  chaparral  around  the  mouth  of  the 
draw,  but  it  ain't  thick  enough  to  make  a  getaway 
as  long  as  they's  any  light  in  the  air.  Now  I've  got 
an  idea,  Miss  Dick." 

"Well?"  the  girl  encouraged,  with  brightening  eyes. 

"  The  next  time  we  drop  out  of  sight  of  the  punchers, 
you  just  slip  off  your  cayuse  with  all  our  grub  and 
hide  out  on  them  Snaky  Y  buckos.  They  won't  be 
looking  for  anybody,  'specially  if  they  see  the  two 
horses  riding  on  ahead.  They'd  be  pumping  after 
me  and  the  two  horses  so  fast  that  you  wouldn't  have 
any  trouble  at  all.  This  cayuse,  without  anybody  on 
its  back,  might  be  able  to  keep  up  to  my  yellow  boy, 


140  RANGY    PETE 

and  if  he  could,  me  and  yellow  boy  would  shore  lose 
them  Snaky  Y  punchers  in  the  chaparral  so  fast 
they'd  wonder  if  we'd  ever  been  alive.  That  sounds 
easy,  Miss  Dick.  Then,  soon's  I'd  lost  this  crew 
that's  tagging  after  us,  I'd  come  right  back  to  you." 

Quite  obviously,  Miss  Dick  was  considering  the 
proposition  with  extreme  care.  She  looked  behind 
her  steadily,  just  as  Rangy  had  done;  she  studied 
the  far  shadows  of  the  plains  which  lay  before,  and 
she  seemed  to  be  looking  anxiously  into  the  higher 
lights  of  the  dulling  sky. 

Then  she  shook  her  head  sharply. 

"Too  dangerous,"  she  decided.  "Their  riders  are 
strung  out  so  much  that  some  of  them  would  be 
sure  to  see  me.  Besides,  they'd  have  pretty  poor 
eyes  if  they  didn't  discover  before  long  that  one 
horse  didn't  have  a  rider.  After  that,  you'll  admit, 
they  would  be  sharp  enough  to  string  a  guard  all 
along  this  draw;  and  how  long  would  it  be  before 
you  ever  got  back  to  me?  Are  you  trying  to  starve 
me  to  death,  Mr.  Rangy  Pete?" 

Deliberation  of  the  point  seemed  to  establish  the 
fact  that  Miss  Dick  was  right.  It  was  one  chance 
gone;  and  still  those  thirsting  riders  behind  them 
must  be  cutting  down  the  lead  with  each  passing 
minute. 

Miss  Dick's  cayuse  was  not  improving,  though 
it  appeared  to  be  holding  its  own  gamely.  Rangy 
believed  it  was  because  of  the  manner  in  which  the 


RANGY    PETE  141 

girl  leaned  from  time  to  time  over  its  neck,  patted 
its  glossy  shoulders  and  whispered  strange  words 
of  affection  into  its  listening  ears.  Through  a  space 
of  time,  while  he  watched  that  seeming  intimacy 
between  Miss  Dick  and  her  cayuse,  Rangy  forgot 
some  of  the  keenness  of  the  problem,  for  that  was 
a  rather  delightful  trait  in  the  girl  which  he  had  not 
hitherto  suspected. 

"No,  we  will  have  to  race  it  out."  Miss  Dick 
broke  into  his  meditations.  "I  couldn't  think  of 
letting  this  horse  fall  into  their  hands.  We  have 
been  friends  too  long  for  that.  Mr.  Pete,  if  you  only 
know  of  a  good  big  cluster  of  chaparral  not  too  far 
away  from  here,  and  could  plan  to  reach  it  just  at 
dark,  I  am  sure  we  would  have  but  little  more 
trouble  dodging  them.  Searching  chaparral  at  night 
is  no  easy  job,  not  even  for  punchers." 

The  suggestion,  Rangy  was  compelled  to  admit, 
had  some  merits,  and  in  view  of  the  impossibility  of 
outriding  the  Snaky  Y  punchers  with  one  hampered 
horse  to  hold  them  back,  it  appeared  to  be  the  only 
feasible  solution.  Yet  it  had  its  demerits. 

"If  I  was  chasing  Dervishers  with  a  flock  of  thirty 
men,"  Rangy  decided  aloud,  "and  they  sloped  it  into 
a  piece  of  chaparral  just  at  dark,  do  you  know  what 
I'd  do?  I'd  just  throw  my  riders  around  that  bit  of  a 
hiding  place,  and  I'd  hold  them  there  until  morning. 
Then  it'd  be,  'Out  you  come,  Mr.  Dervishers.  We 
got  a  nice  little  rope  all  ready  for  you.'  We  can  step 


14*  RANGY   PETE 

into  the  trap,  Miss  Dick,  all  right,  but  how  are  we 
going  to  step  out  of  it?  " 

"That  is  your  job,"  the  girl  pronounced  with 
conviction;  and  back  of  the  conviction  there  was  a 
definite  message  of  faith  which  once  more  set  ablaze 
the  riot  of  emotions  in  Rangy  Pete's  brain. 

By  the  time  that  fever  had  cooled,  they  had  swept 
past  the  limits  of  the  Lone  Shadow  draw,  out  upon 
the  first  stretches  of  the  plains,  and  because  of  that, 
he  knew  there  was  but  the  one  chance  before  them. 
That  was  the  suggestion  of  Miss  Dick. 

Then  an  abrupt  thought  assailed  Rangy  Pete. 

For  him,  the  way  out  could  be  si  nple.  If  he 
chose,  he  might  ride  into  Triple  Butte  and  proclaim 
the  girl  his  prisoner.  But  that  left  a  feeling  of  nausea 
which  he  did  not  attempt  to  understand.  Instead, 
he  gave  himself  up  to  a  study  of  that  problem  which 
Miss  Dick  had  so  briefly  put  before  him. 

The  girl  was  right.  They  must  soon  find  shelter 
in  the  chaparral,  for  a  backward  glance  showed  him 
that  the  foremost  riders  were  less  than  a  half  mile 
behind  them  now.  And  as  yet,  on  these  hill  stretches 
of  the  plains,  the  chaparral  was  thin.  There  were 
still  too  many  high  lights  in  the  sky  which  peered 
down  and  showed  all  too  plainly  the  motions  of 
men  and  of  their  mounts. 

Less  than  a  hah*  mile  behind  them  now!  Dull, 
shadowy  forms,  racing  out  of  the  thickening  shadows 
of  the  plains. 


RANGY   PETE  143 

Directly  before  them  was  Triple  Butte,  a  matter 
of  five  miles  or  more  away.  They  could  never  make 
it  now,  no  matter  how  keen  might  be  the  urge. 

Miss  Dick  looked  almost  constantly  over  her 
shoulder  now!  And  on  those  times  when  she  turned 
to  look  into  his  eyes  he  could  see  an  inquiring 
wonder  upon  those  portions  of  her  face  which  could 
be  seen. 

"There  are  more  than  thirty  men  behind  us." 
Miss  Dick  spoke  suddenly,  and  for  the  first  tune  he 
fancied  he  found  a  slightly  strained  note  in  her  voice. 

But  Rangy  was  thinking  so  swiftly  now  that  he 
barely  heeded  her  words.  To  the  right  of  Triple 
Butte  was  a  cluster  of  chaparral  a  hundred  or 
more  acres  in  extent,  dense  enough  to  suit  their 
purpose.  If  only  they  could  reach  it  before  the 
maddened  riders  behind  them  came  within  reaching 
distance  of  a  bullet! 

"Can  you  get  just  a  little  more  speed  out  of  that 
cayuse?"  he  asked.  "Just  a  little.  We've  got  to 
veer  to  the  right." 

In  answer,  the  girl  leaned  forward  over  the 
animal's  neck;  she  patted  it  softly,  and  she  whispered 
some  pleading  words  in  its  ears  which  sounded 
almost  like  the  melody  of  song. 

With  an  effort  the  animal  picked  up  a  little 
extra  speed,  so  that  Rangy  looked  at  the  girl  in 
wonder. 

"Make  him  hold  that,"  he  declared,   "and  we 


144  RANGY   PETE 

will  strike  that  bit  of  chaparral  you  see  to  the  right 
just  about  the  time  the  punchers  start  to  fire  at  us." 

From  that  time  on  the  course  swerved  to  the 
right  until  shortly  the  darkened  smudge  of  chaparral, 
which  stood  out  blurred  and  indistinct  through  the 
growing  darkness,  was  directly  in  line  between  them 
and  Triple  Butte.  Behind  them,  so  close  now  that 
the  maddened  tramp  of  the  galloping  animals 
sounded  like  the  pounding  of  surf  upon  the  sands, 
came  the  troop  of  punchers.  They  were  breaking 
into  tongue  now,  like  the  yelping  of  hounds.  They 
were  dull  splashes  of  vitality  plunging  through  the 
gloom. 

For  a  moment  Rangy  watched  them  curiously, 
measuring  the  distance  between  them,  the  distance 
to  the  chaparral. 

"We'll  make  it,"  he  declared,  with  elevation;  and 
almost  as  he  spoke  there  came  the  dull  snap  of  a 
barking  revolver  behind  them. 

"They  seem  to  know  it,"  Miss  Dick  replied 
calmly. 

Just  a  few  hundred  yards  to  that  chaparral  now! 
Behind  them  the  leaders  in  the  chase  were  firing 
more  steadily,  persistently,  as  though  they  recog- 
nized the  futility  of  immediate  pursuit. 

Only  one  danger  now!  And  that  the  chance  of  a 
stray  bullet  finding  its  mark.  Accurate  shooting 
was  out  of  the  question.  Speed  would  have  made 
that  impossible,  even  had  the  cloaking  of  night  not 


RANGY    PETE  145 

been  about  them,  dulling  and  blurring  their  flying 
figures  and  making  the  goal  of  those  searching  bullets 
nothing  but  the  whim  of  fate. 

"Listen,  please."  Rangy  began  to  speak  swiftly. 
"I  have  a  plan.  But  we  must  work  fast.  We  will 
make  the  chaparral  now  and  the  first  man  is  four 
hundred  yards  behind.  We  plunge  straight  through 
it,  as  fast  as  we  can  make  it,  as  quiet  as  we  can. 
It  isn't  far.  And  then  you  will  do  exactly  as  I  say?" 

"Yes,"  the  girl  agreed  quickly,  but  there  was 
nothing  subdued  in  her  tones. 

Even  in  that  moment  of  crisis  it  almost  seemed 
to  Rangy  Pete  that  she  was  entrusting  herself  to 
his  keeping  merely  through  some  strange  fancy  of 
her  own,  to  see  if  he  had  the  wits  to  bring  her  through 
this  period  of  danger. 

Abruptly  the  denser  shadows  of  the  chaparral 
closed  about  them,  while  a  chorus  of  bullets  whined 
their  way  through  the  night. 

"Dismount  and  follow  me,"  Rangy  instructed; 
and  shortly  they  were  feeling  their  way  as  swiftly 
and  as  silently  as  possible  through  the  protecting 
growth. 

Behind  them,  at  the  edge  of  the  chaparral,  was 
the  maddened  clatter  of  confused  voices  as  the  fore- 
most riders  dashed  up  to  the  barrier  of  protection 
and  then  paused  uncertainly.  For  some  time  that 
clamoring  of  voices  continued,  as  rider  after  rider 
swung  up  to  the  chaparral  and  added  his  confusion 


146  RANGY   PETE 

to  the  earlier  sounds.  Presently  there  came  the 
sound  of  horses  plunging  into  the  trees  after  them, 
and  that  caused  Rangy  Pete  to  chuckle  audibly. 

"Shore  enough,  old  boys,  come  right  along,"  he 
encouraged  in  a  whisper  which  reached  Miss  Dick's 
ears.  "The  more  time  you  waste  chasing  up  this 
way,  the  longer  it'll  take  you  to  get  your  wits 
together  long  enough  to  know  you  should  be  loping 
it  around  to  the  other  side  of  this  bush.  Faster, 
Miss  Dick!" 

As  he  felt  his  way  through  the  chaparral,  Rangy 
was  listening  intently  to  those  sounds  which  came 
from  the  Snaky  Y  punchers,  and  he  was  seeking  to 
read  the  meaning  of  all  the  confused  voices. 

A  hundred  more  yards  now  to  the  clear  edge  of 
the  barrier  of  tree  growth,  and  beyond  that  —  ? 

"They've  started  to  ride  around  to  this  edge 
now,"  Rangy  decided  abruptly,  "but  it  is  five 
times  as  far  around  as  it  is  through,  and  we're  nearly 
at  the  open.  Steady,  Miss  Dick,  not  a  sound  now." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  the  girl  demanded. 
"This  horse  can't  go  much  farther  tonight." 

"He  won't  have  to  if  we  get  an  even  break  in  the 
luck,  and  if  you  got  your  nerve  with  you,"  Rangy 
proclaimed.  "Now  you're  at  the  very  edge  and 
those  buckos  haven't  come  into  sight  yet.  Do  you 
know  what's  gonna  happen,  Miss?  I've  got  an  idea 
that  I'm  gonna  join  in  the  chase  and  help  burn 
them  Dervishers  out  —  " 


RANGY    PETE  147 

The  girl  laughed  in  sudden  comprehension. 

"Fine!"  she  exclaimed.    "But  how?" 

"Listen.  There  isn't  a  second  to  lose."  Rangy 
spoke  with  swift  intent.  "You  couldn't  get  away 
yet  —  not  quite  dark  enough.  I  got  to  put  them  off 
the  track.  You  stay  here.  When  you  see  the  way 
open,  you  back  your  horse  out.  Ride  around  Triple 
Butte  —  bunch  of  chaparral  to  the  east,  ten  acres 
of  it.  Meet  me  there  on  the  far  side  of  it  —  get  there 
as  soon  as  I  can  —  Good  luck,  little  Blue  Eyes." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  Rangy  Pete  was  backing  the 
burnt-yellow  cayuse  out  from  the  sheltering  fringe 
of  the  chaparral  into  the  smouldering  gloom  of  the 
early  night.  He  backed  the  animal  as  swiftly  as  it 
could  travel  in  this  unusual  pose,  and  he  kept  its 
head  turned  towards  that  curve  of  the  chaparral- 
bordered  night  from  which  the  riders  of  the  Snaky  Y 
must  shortly  loom.  It  could  be  a  matter  of  but  two 
or  three  minutes  at  the  most,  he  knew,  before  the 
first  of  the  riders  would  swing  around  that  out- jutting 
crop  of  chaparral  some  three  hundred  yards  distant, 
and  from  that  point  gain  a  clear  view  of  himself. 

While  he  backed  the  cayuse  towards  Triple  Butte, 
Rangy  Pete  chuckled  to  himself  somewhat  grimly. 

"Boy,  we  shore  got  to  use  our  head  tonight,"  he 
addressed  the  astonished  animal,  "but  I'm  thinking, 
when  they  first  catch  sight  of  you,  with  your  nose 
turned  towards  them,  they  won't  nowise  think  that 
you've  ever  had  anything  to  do  with  Dervishers. 


Ii8  RANGY    PETE 

They'll  set  you  down  as  running  in  from  Triple  Butte 
to  help  them." 

There,  by  the  night-dulled  cluster  of  chaparral, 
was  the  darting  shadow  of  the  foremost  of  the  riders. 

Rangy  Pete  shook  the  reins  of  the  burnt-yellow 
cayuse  and  dashed  towards  those  advancing  riders 
with  a  great  clatter  of  noise. 

"You  got  them?"  he  demanded,  as  he  slithered 
the  cayuse  into  a  halt  directly  in  their  path. 

"Got  them  nothing!"  the  voice  of  Bill  Sonnes 
returned  testily.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Rangy!  Did  them 
Dervishers  ride  out  on  this  side?" 

"They  shore  haven't,  though  I  been  expecting 
them  to  do  it.  Now  look  alive,  fellows.  Throw  the 
posse  all  around  this  bunch  of  chaparral,  and  we  got 
them,  snug  in  a  trap.  Ride  on,  Sonnes,  and  string 
your  men  out.  And  for  goodness'  sake  make  it 
fast,  or  the  Dervishers  will  slip  away  on  that  far 
corner." 

Sonnes  jerked  at  his  reins  impatiently,  with  a 
degree  of  fire  which  told  that  the  blood-lust  was 
burning  hot  within  him.  He  was  almost  in  the  act 
of  dashing  on  when  Rangy  checked  him  with  a 
sharp  word. 

"You  lost  your  head,  Sonnes?"  he  demanded. 
"Why  don't  you  send  a  man  to  ride  back  the  way 
you  come,  and  post  guards  around  the  other  way 
till  you  two  parties  mod?" 

The  man's  reply  was  an  impatient  oath. 


RANGY    PETE  149 

"Here,  Merker,"  he  exclaimed,  "Rangy's  right. 
You  string  back  the  way  you  come,  pick  up  the 
riders  and  scatter  them  along,  one  every  few  hundred 
yards.  Step  fast,  Merker.  We  got  them  Dervishers 
in  a  trap,  and  if  they  ain't  dangling  by  the  neck 
before  morning  you  can  call  me  a  greaser." 

This  time  Sonnes  applied  the  spurs,  and  Rangy 
had  to  raise  his  voice  to  check  the  man's  speed. 

"And  Sonnes,"  he  shouted,  "the  wind's  blowing 
across  the  chaparral  from  the  other  side.  Set  it 
afire  as  soon  as  you  get  the  posse  all  strung  out 
ready  —  ' 

"You're  a  live  one!"  Sonnes  bellowed  back  over 
his  shoulder,  as  he  and  a  party  of  riders  raced  on 
into  the  growing  darkness  of  the  night. 

Rangy  Pete  turned  about  to  find  Merker  still  at 
his  side,  while  another  of  the  belated  riders  was 
already  racing  towards  them. 

"It's  easy,  Merker,"  Rangy  exclaimed,  "but  we 
got  to  work  fast.  You  slope  it  back  as  Sonnes  said, 
and  post  your  riders.  I'll  stand  guard  from  here  to 
that  point  of  chaparral  you  see  sticking  out  down 
there  a  ways.  You  post  your  first  man  just  past 
that,  and  tell  him  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the  dark  spots. 
Them  Dervishers  have  got  to  ride  out  this  way 
some  time.  Now  make  it  fast,  Merker!" 

There  was  so  much  crispness  in  Rangy's  tones, 
and  such  an  air  of  authority,  that  apparently  the 
man  Merker  did  not  have  so  much  as  a  thought  of 


150  RANGY    PETE 


hesitancy.  He  dashed  away  in  the  opposite  direction 
to  that  taken  by  Sonnes,  picked  up  the  second  rider 
on  the  way,  and  in  a  minute  or  more  he  disappeared 
around  the  curve  of  shadow  into  the  gloom  of  the  night. 

Rangy  Pete  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

With  the  Snaky  Y  punchers  working  so  frantically 
to  throw  a  cordon  about  the  cluster  of  chaparral 
and  accepting  his  proffered  services  so  unquestion- 
ingly,  there  was  now  but  the  one  rider  within  sight 
of  him.  That  man  was  the  first  of  the  guards  posted 
by  Sonnes,  a  young  puncher  stationed  some  three 
hundred  yards  down  the  edge  of  the  chaparral. 

It  was  growing  swiftly  dark,  though  it  was  not 
quite  dark  enough  for  Miss  Dick  to  ride  out  of  her 
shelter  and  vanish  into  the  blackness  to  the  north 
of  Triple  Butte.  Another  quarter  of  an  hour  and  it 
would  be  perfectly  safe.  She  could  step  out  of  the 
shadows  into  the  cloak  of  night  and  be  lost  forever 
to  those  eager  punchers  whose  brains  were  fevered 
now  by  the  pursuit. 

What  a  fire  was  running  in  their  veins!  As  he 
thought  of  that,  Rangy  Pete  shuddered  at  the 
prospect  of  Miss  Dick  falling  into  their  hands.  For 
if  such  had  been  her  fate  —  if  his  wits  had  failed  him 
in  that  moment  of  crisis  —  he  could  see  quite  clearly 
that  those  slightly  maniacal  punchers  might  easily 
have  inflicted  the  final  punishment  of  death  before 
they  discovered  that  she  was  a  woman. 

Rangy  shivered  again;  then  he  laughed  softly. 


RANGY    PETE  151 

A  few  minutes  more  and  Miss  Dick's  last  danger 
would  be  over.  Already  the  figure  of  that  guard  at 
his  right  had  become  so  smothered  by  the  cloakings 
of  night  that  Rangy  could  distinguish  his  form 
only  when  he  moved.  A  few  minutes  more  and  the 
night  would  have  blotted  out  even  the  movements 
of  either  rider  or  mount! 

And  that  was  just  as  it  should  be.  In  Rangy 's 
blood  there  was  running  the  thrill  of  victory.  This 
last  chapter  of  the  chase  had  been  timed  to  perfec- 
tion; for  just  a  few  minutes  after  Miss  Dick  rode 
out  of  her  shelter  into  safety,  the  chaparral  would 
be  set  ablaze  from  the  far  side.  And  that  blaze 
would  be  a  curious  thing,  for  it  would  provide  still 
more  protection  for  the  retreat  of  Miss  Dick.  Miss 
Dick,  being  beyond  the  range  of  the  blaze,  would 
be  in  the  shelter  of  shadows  impenetrable  to  those 
watching  eyes. 

Yes,  it  had  worked  out  with  astonishing  success. 
Five  minutes  more,  and  Miss  Dick  — 

A  rider  dashing  down  upon  him  from  the  left, 
from  beyond  that  point  of  chaparral!  The  slithering 
of  a  rider  stopping  beside  him! 

Rangy  Pete  felt  all  the  elation  swept  from  him 
and  in  its  place  there  came  the  cold  chill  of  augury. 
For  the  man  was  Dan  Merrill,  head  of  the  Snaky  Y. 
So  it  must  be  a  case  of  wits  again. 

"Hello,  Dan,"  Rangy  greeted  casually.  "Got 
them  yet?" 


152  RANGY    PETE 

Merrill's  reply  was  a  bellowing  sound.  "You 
wasn't  in  our  posse,"  he  declared.  "What  you 
doing  here?" 

"Catching  Dervishers  same's  the  rest  of  you," 
Rangy  replied  easily,  though  his  right  hand  dropped 
negligently  towards  his  hip  and  rested  there,  as 
though  weary  of  effort.  "If  you  wasn't  so  het  up, 
Merrill,  I'd  be  calling  your  attention  to  the  fact  that 
you  ain't  got  no  right  to  bellow  at  me.  I'm  not  on 
your  string  of  riders  and  I  go  and  come  when  I  like. 
I  saw  your  fancy  chase  across  the  ranges  from  where 
I  happened  to  be,  so  I  sloped  it  here  as  quick  as  I 
knew  how.  Sonnes  left  me  here  on  guard ;  but  don't 
think  I'm  telling  you  this,  Merrill,  because  I  have 
to  tell  you  anything.  I'm  my  own  boss,  understand 
that.  I  take  orders  from  myself  and  if  the  rest  of 
the  world  doesn't  like  it  - 

Rangy  finished  his  sentence  only  by  the  outward 
jerking  of  his  left  hand,  and  by  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  The  right  hand,  Merrill  could  not  help 
but  observe,  still  rested  annoyingly  near  a  certain 
bulge  by  the  hip.  And  even  Dan  Merrill,  big  and 
dark  and  quick  tempered  as  he  was,  recognized 
through  the  heat  of  his  passions  that  Rangy 's  hand, 
when  in  that  particular  position,  was  not  a  thing 
to  be  trifled  with. 

"Seems  to  me  you  got  here  mighty  quick." 
Merrill's  voice  contained  its  sneer,  which  Rangy 
chose  to  overlook. 


RANGY    PETE  153 

"Shore,  this  little  cayuse  has  got  the  speed. 
Gonna  buy  him  off  me,  Dan?" 

Yet  while  he  spoke  with  pleasant  indifference, 
Rangy  Pete  was  inwardly  fuming  at  the  presence  of 
Merrill  and  at  the  loss  of  time.  By  now  it  was  dark 
enough  for  Miss  Dick  to  make  an  effective  escape, 
and  except  for  the  presence  of  this  burly  person  in 
front  of  him,  the  girl  would  already  be  riding  off 
there  into  the  shadows. 

Merrill's  arrival  had  been  most  untimely.  Through 
the  flash  of  his  thoughts  Rangy  could  envision  the 
disaster  which  the  man's  presence  might  entail. 
Within  a  very  few  minutes  that  chaparral  must  be 
ablaze  on  the  far  side,  with  its  flames  mounting  to 
the  sky  and  robbing  the  girl  of  the  advantage  of 
the  night.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  suggest  such 
a  thing!  For  this  chaparral,  dry  and  tindery  through 
the  many  blisterings  of  the  sun,  would  burn  like 
straw.  It  would  flare  swiftly  to  the  sky  and  throw 
the  glare  of  fire  all  about  them. 

Rangy's  lips  grew  straight  in  spite  of  the  banter 
of  his  voice.  Merrill  or  no  Merrill,  Miss  Dick  must 
be  out  of  that  trap  within  the  next  five  minutes  or 
her  last  chance  would  be  gone. 

Merrill  or  no  Merrill !  In  the  flash  of  that  prompt- 
ing the  urge  was  strong  upon  him  to  pick  a  swift 
quarrel  with  this  arrogant  owner  of  the  Snaky  Y, 
who  would  doubtless  be  keen  to  inflict  punishment 
upon  a  woman  the  same  as  upon  a  man.  A  quarrel 


154  RANGY    PETE 

in  this  moment  of  Merrill's  roiled  passions  would  be 
such  an  easy  thing.  A  fight  in  the  dark!  Rangy  did 
not  shrink  from  the  prospect,  but  somehow  or  other 
it  seemed  to  be  folly.  This,  rather,  should  be  a 
game  of  wits. 

"His  head  seems  to  be  drooping  a  bit,"  Merrill's 
sneering  voice  went  on  critically.  "I'm  thinking, 
Rangy  Pete,  that  you've  rode  that  cayuse  a  whole 
lot  farther  than  from  Triple  Butte.  You  didn't,  by 
any  chance,  ride  him  from  the  Lone  Shadow 
draw?" 

Rangy  Pete  turned  his  head  aside.  The  insinua- 
tion of  that  remark  was  a  biting  thing.  Still,  how 
was  he  supposed  to  know  there  was  any  insinuation 
in  it  at  all? 

"The  Lone  Shadow  draw?"  he  reflected;  and 
even  as  he  spoke,  he  could  see  the  first  faint  lightening 
at  the  edges  of  the  shadows  on  the  far  side  of  the 
chaparral.  "Seems  to  me  I  have  been  there,  but  I 
don't  quite  place  it  — 

It  was  only  with  a  strained  effort  that  Rangy 
could  command  his  voice.  Already  the  chaparral 
was  on  fire.  In  a  very  few  minutes  now  the  blaze 
would  be  intense.  And  Merrill  was  still  standing 
between  Miss  Dick  and  safety! 

"It's  out  past  the  Pelican,  ain't  it  —  sakes  alive! 
The  chaparral's  on  fire.  See,  Dan,  over  your  shoulder 
there." 

Merrill  swung  about  and  in  that  instant  the  guard 


RANGY    PETE  155 

posted  by  Sonnes  rode  through  the  shadows  and 
disappeared.  Rangy  Pete  knew  what  the  outlines 
of  that  man's  form  might  do  for  him. 

Instantly  he  became  a  fever  of  excitement. 

"Gad,  Merrill!"  he  exclaimed,  "there  they  are. 
Didn't  you  see  that  shadow?  We'll  get  them, 
Merrill,  if  there's  anything  more  to  you  than  a 
bunch  of  bluster.  Come!" 

Rangy 's  excitement,  though  artificial,  was  never- 
theless effective  and  contagious.  He  slapped  the 
cayuse  into  quick  action  and  darted  swiftly  in  the 
direction  of  the  shadow  which  had  caught  Merrill's 
eye.  As  he  rode  into  the  night,  Rangy  emitted  a 
great  volume  of  vocal  sound. 

"We  got  to  keep  them  in  the  chaparral  till  it  gets 
lighter!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  glanced  back  over  his 
shoulder  and  saw  that  the  feverish  Merrill  was 
immediately  behind  him. 

Rangy  rode  directly  away  from  Miss  Dick's 
position,  with  Merrill  at  his  cayuse's  heels,  and  he 
dashed  up  to  the  edge  of  the  chaparral,  firing  bullets 
into  the  ground  as  he  went. 

Just  there  he  glanced  once  more  over  his  shoulder, 
and  as  he  looked  he  caught  the  flitting  of  another 
shadow  which  rode  swiftly  out  of  the  chaparral  and 
vanished  into  the  night  towards  the  north.  That 
brought  to  him  the  keen  warmth  of  victory.  That 
was  why  his  voice  was  elated  when  he  shouted 
again  at  Merrill  — 


156  RANGY    PETE 

"We  drove  them  back,  Dan,  old  boy!  We'll  get 
them  yet!" 

"We  musta  drove  them  back,"  Merrill  admitted, 
"for  they're  not  here." 

At  that  instant  the  guard  rode  up  beside  them, 
and  Rangy  Pete,  looking  out  across  the  chaparral, 
saw  the  first  thin  tongue  of  flame  leaping  towards 
the  sky.  But  Miss  Dick,  he  knew,  was  beyond  its 
menace.  And  because  of  that  he  sighed  softly  and 
he  felt  an  intense  glow  about  the  region  of  the  heart 
which  he  did  not  attempt  to  understand. 

"They'll  never  get  away  now,"  Merrill  gloated, 
and  Rangy  felt  a  sensation  of  revulsion  at  the  sound 
of  the  voice. 

Still  he  answered  - 

"Never.    We  shore  got  them  trapped." 


CHAPTER   VII 

WHILE  the  last  reddening  gleam  of  the  burning 
chaparral  was  flickering  across  the  sky,  Rangy  Pete 
rode  around  to  the  north  of  Triple  Butte  and  came 
upon  that  small  cluster  of  tree-growth  where  Miss 
Dick  should  be  awaiting  him. 

He  thought  of  Dan  Merrill,  big,  swarthy,  arrogant, 
domineering,  burned  by  the  passions  of  life,  young 
enough  to  be  virile,  old  enough  to  be  wily,  grasping 
enough  to  be  unscrupulous,  successful  enough  to  be 
daring,  cold  enough  to  rule  his  men  with  an  iron 
hand;  and  he  wondered  if  Merrill,  in  all  his  shrewd- 
ness, would  be  keen  enough  to  find  any  association 
between  him,  Rangy  Pete,  and  the  failure  of  that 
burning  chaparral  to  drive  any  Dervishers  into  the 
open. 

That  was  something  which  the  future  would  have 
to  answer;  for  he  had  not  waited  to  see.  Yet  if 
Merrill  should  guess  the  truth,  then  the  uncharted 
days  yet  to  come  would  not  be  pleasant  things. 

But  for  the  present  the  problem  was  that  of 
Miss  Dick. 

As  he  rode  towards  that  small  clump  of  chaparral, 
Rangy  found  that  his  emotions  were  in  a  tumult  of 

157 


158  RANGY    PETE 

conflict.  He  hoped  she  would  be  there  waiting  for 
him,  and  yet  that  hope  was  almost  a  fear. 

It  was  not  right  that  Miss  Dick,  though  a  bandit, 
should  have  her  emotions  fed  upon  excitement  such 
as  that  through  which  they  had  just  squeezed  with 
such  narrow  margin;  but  when  he  drew  near  to  the 
trysting  place  Rangy  told  himself  that  the  blue-eyed 
one,  if  here,  would  now  be  quite  content  to  ride 
back  to  the  tumbled  land  of  hills  and  valleys  which 
lay  beyond  the  Pass. 

At  the  extreme  tip  of  the  chaparral  he  found  her, 
standing  by  the  side  of  the  horse  and  gazing  off 
towards  the  dying  embers  of  that  night  fire.  She 
recognized  him  instantly  as  he  drew  near. 

"You  surely  had  your  wits  about  you  tonight, 
Mr.  Pete,"  she  complimented  easily,  "so  I  am 
certain  we  will  not  have  a  bit  of  trouble  getting 
that  box  of  evaporated  apples." 

Rangy  Pete  mumbled  something  in  his  throat 
which  was  strangely  like  the  rumblings  of  astonish- 
ment. For  a  moment  he  gazed  at  the  shaded  out- 
lines of  her  face,  and  the  tip  of  his  fingers  strayed  up 
to  toy  with  his  left  ear. 

"Then  you  haven't  had  enough  of  it?"  he  asked 
uncertainly.  "I  figured  you  shorely  would  have." 

The  girl  laughed  lightly,  as  though  the  promise 
of  the  future  were  a  relish. 

"It  isn't  that,"  she  explained,  "but  there  is  no 
time  like  the  present.  Triple  Butte  will  be  too 


RANGY    PETE  159 

excited  to  think  much  about  Ike  (Hollander  tonight, 
so  how  soon  clo  you  think  we  had  better  be  going?" 

Still  Rangy  stared  for  a  tune. 

"Who  said  anything  about  'we'?"  he  burst  out, 
at  last.  "Miss  Dick,  I'm  thinking  the  best  thing 
you  can  do  is  to  slope  it  out  of  sight  as  fast  as  you 
know  how.  But  before  you  go,  I'd  shore  take  it  as 
a  compliment  if  you'd  take  off  that  mask  and  give 
me  one  little  peek  at  your  face.  I  ain't  got  no 
memory  for  faces  at  all.  I'd  forget  it  before  you 
were  outa  sight." 

"Your  compliments  are  remarkable  for  their 
directness,"  the  girl  broke  in.  "First  you  tell  me 
I  am  the  most  homely  woman  you  have  ever  met, 
and  now  you  say  you  could  forget  me  even  before 
my  back  was  turned." 

A  definite  consciousness  of  inferiority  seemed  to 
assail  Rangy  Pete,  so  that  for  a  time  all  he  could 
do  was  stand  and  grin. 

"You  go  picking  me  up  wrong,"  he  protested,  at 
length.  "I'm  just  wanting  you  to  slope  it  so  you  won't 
get  hurt.  What  I'm  telling  you  is  no  joke.  Triple 
Butte  won't  be  healthy  tonight  for  strangers.  The 
red-eye  will  be  running  about  as  fast  as  a  dozen  men 
can  lap  it  up,  and  before  we  could  get  there  the 
folks'll  be  having  that  feeling  that  makes  them  shoot 
first  and  ask  questions  after." 

"You  really  mean  it?"  Miss  Dick  exclaimed  with 
enthusiasm.  "Then  we  couldn't  possibly  find  a 


160  RANGY    PETE 

better  night.  I  am  glad  you  told  me,  Mr.  Pete, 
for  I  have  been  waiting  for  a  long  time  to  see  a 
town  on  the  loose  —  isn't  that  what  you  call  it? 
How  soon  can  we  get  away?" 

Rangy's  protests  were  vehement  and  prolonged. 
They  took  the  form  of  a  detailed  word-picture  <>f 
the  glee  which  the  Merrill  punchers  would  find  in 
any  victory  over  the  Dervishers,  however  small; 
but  though  he  grew  quite  eloquent  and  really  sur- 
prised himself,  Miss  Dick  merely  stood  waiting 
impatiently  until  he  had  finished. 

"You  do  seem  particularly  anxious  to  keep  mo 
out  of  Triple  Butte  tonight,"  she  mused.  "Is  there 
anything  special  there  you  don't  want  me  to 
see?" 

"There  shore  is,"  he  grinned;  "it's  the  calaboose. 
It  don't  look  so  uninviting  from  the  outside,  but  it 
ain't  ever  been  the  same  since  Buck  Menzie  spent 
a  night  there.  Buck  got  into  an  argument  with  a 
window  and  the  place  has  been  draughty  ever  since. 
Besides,  that  Buzzard  Flynn  person  is  most  apt  to 
be  yowling  around  there  tonight." 

"You  are  entirely  too  thoughtful,"  Miss  Dick 
interrupted.  "I  have  reached  this  stage  without  a 
guardian  — 

"And  ain't  you  thinking  it's  about  time  somebody 
took  you^n  hand?"  Rangy  interjected,  in  his  turn. 

Miss  Dick  stood  quite  still,  looking  at  Rangy 
through  the  night  until  he  fancied  that  the  cold 


RANGY    PETE  161 

blue  of  her  eyes  began  to  glitter  through  the  slits 
of  her  mask. 

"Might  you  be  thinking  of  trying  it?"  she  asked 
calmly;  then  she  rushed  on  more  impetuously,  "For 
I  wouldn't  advise  you  to." 

For  the  first  time  since  meeting  with  this  feminine 
road  agent,  Rangy  became  conscious  of  a  feeling  of 
irritation;  but  that  was  rather  at  his  own  inability 
to  cope  with  her  moods. 

"You  seem  to  be  forgetting,  Miss,  that  you're 
my  prisoner,"  he  retorted,  with  a  suggestion  of 
outward  rankle. 

"How  like  a  man!"  The  girl's  mood  swung  back 
to  quick  laughter.  "Now  that  it  is  all  settled,  don't 
you  think  we  had  better  be  starting?  The  reflection 
of  that  fire  has  quite  died  out  and  everybody  must 
be  in  Triple  Butte  by  this  time." 

Without  a  word  Rangy  turned  his  cayuse  towards 
the  town  and  the  girl  swung  in  at  his  side.  For  a 
time  they  rode  thus  through  the  silence,  while  from 
the  vastness  of  the  world  -  the  only  sound  which 
reached  them  was  the  crunching  of  the  horses'  hoofs. 
Over  earth  and  sky  there  was  the  blur  of  darkness, 
while  the  silence  seemed  to  rise  up  and  press  about 
them  like  the  intangible  spirit  of  the  vast  plains. 
It  was  a  strange  silence,  which  seemed  to  whisper 
to  the  man  that  in  the  whole  great  world  there  were 
but  two  human  beings,  himself  and  this  queer  girl 
at  his  side.  To  Rangy  Pete  it  brought  a  touch  of 


162  RANGY    PETE 

loneliness,  accustomed  though  he  was  to  the  solitude 
of  the  hills  and  of  the  plains,  and  it  roused  within 
him  feelings  which  he  could  not  understand. 

Rangy  sighed  through  the  darkness.  Tonight  he 
would  play  the  woman's  game;  and  tomorrow  - 

Abruptly  he  shook  his  head  with  a  keener  con- 
sciousness of  the  present  and  of  the  peril  of  that 
thing  which  the  girl  purposed  to  do.  With  that, 
the  passion  of  fear  for  her  rose  up  to  grip  him. 

"You're  not  going  in  to  Triple  Butte,"  he  heard 
himself  saying,  in  a  voice  so  stern  as  to  be  almost 
that  of  a  stranger.  "You're  going  to  stay  out 
behind  the  corrals,  for  if  you  don't,  I'll  rope  you." 

"All  right,  Rangy,"  the  girl's  voice  came  back 
meekly,  so  meekly  that  he  found  himself  once  more 
astonished  at  the  strange  whims  of  womankind. 

But  it  was  a  meekness  of  which  he  speedily  took 
advantage,  so  that  shortly  he  had  picked  out  a 
perfectly  safe  place  for  Miss  Dick  to  await  his  return. 

"I  will  give  you  an  hour,"  the  girl  declared  in  a, 
whisper,  as  he  made  ready  to  ride  away.  "After 
that,  I  will  consider  myself  free  again.  Remember, 
I  am  a  person  of  my  word.  No  trifling.  I  want  that 
box  of  evaporated  apples." 

"Time  to  spare,"  Rangy  returned  in  a  confident 
whisper;  and  shortly  he  was  riding  swiftly  towards 
Triple  Butte.  By  the  time  he  reached  the  outlying 
shacks  strung  along  the  single  highway,  he  became 
more  and  more  convinced  that  the  time  was  not 


RANGY    PETE  108 

opportune  for  the  burglarizing  of  Ike  Collander's  or 
any  one  else's  premises.  The  whole  of  Triple  Butte, 
and  the  punchers  for  miles  around,  it  seemed,  had 
gathered  along  this  dusty  highway,  in  a  condition 
which  appeared  like  fluctuating  excitement. 

There  were  so  many  strange  cayuses  and  such  a 
blaring  of  human  voices  that  Rangy  vanished  into 
the  darkness  at  the  side  of  the  buildings  and  felt 
his  way  along  to  the  rear  of  Collander's  storeroom. 
Merrill's  box  of  apples,  as  nearly  as  he  could 
remember,  had  been  placed  on  top  of  a  pile  of  similar 
boxes  near  the  rear  doorway,  so  in  view  of  the  excite- 
ment out  in  front,  the  work  of  pillage  should  be 
comparatively  simple. 

An  important  thing,  however,  would  be  to  know 
the  exact  location  of  Ike  Collander;  for  Ike's  theory, 
he  knew,  was  to  shoot  and  then  to  investigate 
afterwards.  Still,  there  were  no  side  windows 
through  which  to  spy  upon  Collander. 

"There's  nothing  like  being  a  fool  for  caution," 
Rangy  informed  himself,  as  he  appreciated  the  neces- 
sity of  taking  a  chance  on  the  whereabouts  of  his 
employer.  "There's  one  thing  counting  my  way, 
for  if  Ike  shoots,  he's  just  as  apt  to  hit  the  ceiling 
as  the  floor." 

The  back  door  was  locked,  but  his  personal  key 
negotiated  that  difficulty.  Rangy  stole  forward  and 
half  way  up  the  room  he  stumbled  against  a  package 
and  some  article  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  thud. 


164  RANGY    PETE 

For  a  time  Rangy  froze  in  his  tracks,  listening 
intently  for  the  faintest  sounds  from  the  room 
beyond.  There  came  a  scraping  sound  which  may 
have  been  made  by  the  explorations  of  a  strange  dog 
or  which  may  have  signified  the  awakening  of  Ike 
Collander.  The  sounds  drew  nearer,  approached 
the  door,  paused,  then  went  away  again. 

"Couldn't  a  been  Ike,"  Rangy  decided,  "for  he 
would  have  moseyed  right  in." 

Thus  self-consoled,  Rangy  Pete  began  to  move 
about  more  swiftly.  He  reached  the  pile  of  evapo- 
rated apple  boxes  without  further  mishap,  and  on 
the  top,  where  he  had  put  it,  he  found  a  crate  which, 
through  the  darkness,  seemed  to  be  the  Merrill  box. 
There  was  a  smooth  strip  of  something  along  the 
surface,  which  must  be  the  splashing  of  red  paint; 
and  there  was  - 

Sudden  footsteps  in  the  store  in  front  of  him. 
Hurried  footsteps  which  seemed  to  have  a  purpose 
in  life!  Other  hurried  footsteps  at  the  side  of  the 
store  —  running  men  —  at  both  sides  of  the  store  — 

"Of  all  the  plumb  idjiots!"  Rangy  grappled  with 
the  situation  with  frantic  haste.  "  I  do  believe  they're 
surrounding  the  place,  and  with  me  inside,  what's 
supposed  to  be  somewhere  else!" 

Rangy  thought  of  the  door,  but  those  running 
footsteps,  he  knew,  had  cut  off  his  retreat,  provided, 
of  course,  he  happened  to  be  the  object  of  their 
interest.  Exit  by  the  main  store  was  likewise  cut 


RANGY    PETE  165 

off  by  those  other  tramping  feet.  For  a  rapid  instant 
Rangy  experienced  the  sensation  of  a  trapped  animal. 
Then  abruptly  he  grinned  to  himself  through  the 
darkness. 

"Rangy,"  he  admonished,  "if  you  ain't  most  nigh 
as  big  an  idjiot  as  the  rest  of  them.  You  jest  got  to 
go  to  sleep,  peaceful  like,  and  that's  all  there's  to  it." 

Through  the  convenient  pause,  while  the  footsteps 
stopped  outside  either  doorway,  Rangy  worked 
rapidly.  He  stripped  off  his  coat  almost  at  the 
same  instant  that  he  felt  out  hurriedly  with  his 
hands.  There  was  a  huge  crate  of  dry  goods  which 
had  arrived  a  few  days  previous  and  which  he  had 
helped  to  place  in  the  storeroom.  This  crate,  he 
knew,  provided  an  admirable  barrier  to  bullets,  if 
only  Ike  Collander  had  not  been  mussing  about  in 
his  absence.  For  the  crate,  as  he  left  it,  was  quite 
out  of  the  line  of  fire  from  either  doorway. 

Rangy's  hands  came  into  contact  with  wood. 

"Ike  shore  is  a  little  prince  for  once,"  Rangy 
decreed,  as  he  found  the  crate  undisturbed. 

Even  as  he  rolled  up  his  coat,  Rangy  dropped 
down  behind  the  crate  and  stretched  out  at  full 
length  upon  the  flooring. 

Through  a  labored  breathing,  assumed  for  the 
benefit  of  his  new  audience,  Rangy  listened  intently 
for  developments.  It  was  obvious  now  that  the 
storeroom  was  the  center  of  attraction,  for  there 
were  gentle  scratchings  at  either  doorway. 


166  RANGY    PETE 

"They're  shore  mightily  slow  horning  their  way 
in,"  Rangy  reflected.  "They  ain't  none  of  them 
being  dead  set  on  crowding  the  others  out,  and 
that's  what  I  call  being  rare  polite.  I  wouldn't  be 
surprised  if  they  had  all  gone  loco  and  got  the  idea 
that  I'm  a  Dervisher  or  something  like  that." 

From  the  direction  of  the  main  store  there  came 
a  noise  which  indicated  that  the  door  was  being 
opened,  cautiously,  an  inch  at  a  time.  Rangy, 
peering  beyond  the  edge  of  the  crate,  looked  for  a 
face  in  the  doorway,  but  there  was  not  even  the 
streak  of  light  which  should  have  accompanied  the 
opening  of  the  door. 

So  their  nerves  were  on  edge!  They  were  serious, 
after  all!  They  had  even  darkened  the  room 
beyond. 

With  this  discovery  Rangy  applied  himself  a 
trifle  more  industriously  to  making  the  sounds  of 
slumber.  From  creakings  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room  he  could  tell  that  the  rear  door  was  also  being 
pushed  open  with  extreme  caution.  Presently  there 
was  a  voice  from  the  direction  of  the  store.  It  was 
not  in  the  doorway,  he  could  tell  that;  for  it  must 
be  sheltered  somewhere  out  beyond.  It  was  the 
voice  of  Sheriff  Stipples,  arrogant,  but  with  its 
body  amply  protected. 

"You  might  as  well  come  out,  you  blooming 
highway  gent,  for  we've  got  the  place  surrounded. 
And  don't  try  any  little  shooting  game,  or  we'll 


RANGY    PETE  167 

string  you  up  so  high  the  birds'll  get  dizzy  goin' 
after  yore  bones." 

Sheriff  Stipples  bellowed  his  command  with  such 
vigor  that  Rangy  wondered  if  he  were  still  justified 
in  assuming  the  pose  of  slumber.  He  might  be 
excused  for  waking,  he  knew  that,  and  for  calling 
out  some  message  which  would  end  the  man-hunt. 
But  that  was  not  entirely  satisfying.  If  Triple  Butte 
really  had  an  attack  of  the  nerves,  he  would  like 
ample  proof  of  it. 

So  Rangy  hunched  his  legs  into  the  certain  pro- 
tection of  the  dry-goods  box  and  he  attempted  a 
noise  like  a  man  who  is  disturbed  in  his  slumbers. 

"He's  there  all  right,  fer  I  heard  him  move.'* 
Rangy  heard  a  peppery  voice  which  he  recognized 
as  that  of  Ike  Collander.  "I'm  goin'  in  after  him, 
I  tell  you." 

"You  wanta  get  yore  hide  full  of  holes?"  Stipples 
protested.  "Hey,  you  fellers  at  the  back,  keep 
away  from  the  door,  fer  I'm  a  gonna  turn  my  gun 
loose  if  he  ain't  come  out  by  the  time  I  count  three. 
Listen,  you  bloomin'  bandit,  I'm  a  countin'  three, 
kinda  slow,  to  give  you  time  to  think  it  over,  an' 
if  you  ain't  a  marchin'  up  to  this  door  afore  I've 
said  three,  I'll  be  searchin'  you  out  with  lead." 

Sheriff  Stipples  paused.  Through  the  pause, 
Rangy  Pete,  with  full  confidence  in  the  crate  of 
dry  goods,  shifted  again. 

"I  heard  you,  feller,"  Stipples  bellowed  again. 


168  RANGY    PETE 

"I  know  right  where  you  are,  an'  I'm  soon  gonna 
send  a  flock  of   lead   your  way.    One  —  Two  - 
Three!" 

Stipples  was  as  good  as  his  word. 

There  was  a  rattle  of  shots  and  a  storm  of  lead 
came  hurtling  into  the  room. 

The  shots  were  accompanied  by  an  extravagant 
sound  of  breaking  crockery  and  by  the  wreck  of 
other  articles  of  a  fragile  nature.  They  were  also 
echoed  by  the  excited  voice  of  Ike  Collander. 

"You  ain't  gonna  do  any  more  of  that,  Stipples, 
I'm  telling  you!"  Collander  was  shouting  out  his 
protests.  "You've  most  mabbe  ruined  me  now  by 
the  things  you  broke.  I'm  going  in  there  — 

Rangy  Pete  decided  that  it  was  tune  to  awake 
from  his  slumbers. 

"Hey,  you  tarnation  idiots!  What's  going  on 
out  there?"  he  roared,  giving  volume  to  his  demand 
in  order  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  his 
identity.  "Can't  a  fellow  go  to  sleep  nowhere  in 
this  town  but  what  somebody's  got  to  come  saluting 
him  with  artillery?" 

From  the  silence  which  followed,  Rangy  knew 
that  his  voice  had  carried  its  own  surprise  into  the 
ranks  beyond.  He  knew,  also,  that  the  moment 
was  opportune  for  deploying  upon  his  assailants. 
So  he  rose,  and  with  coat  dragging  after  him  in  one 
hand  he  sauntered  out  into  the  darkened  store. 

"Hey,  Ike,  what's  going  on  here?"  he  demanded, 


RANGY    PETE  169 

in  a  voice  purposely  hard  and  cold  and  suspicious. 
"Somebody  been  shooting  at  you,  Ike?  For  if  they 
have- 

Rangy  paused  for  the  sake  of  impression  only. 

"Light  up,  Ike,"  he  ordered,  in  tones  more  harsh 
than  before.  "It's  all  right,  Ike.  I  got  that  bunch 
covered.  Hands  up,  you  gents !  Strike  a  match,  Ike. 
And  you  other  gents,  if  I  don't  see  yore  hands  pawing 
for  the  ceiling  when  I  see  you  first,  I'll  be  taking  it 
that  you  got  a  hankering  for  the  lead  treatment.'* 

Ike  Collander's  strain  of  perversity  promptly 
showed  itself. 

Ike  knew  that  he  might  have  relieved  the  situation 
by  the  use  of  a*  few  well  chosen  words,  but  instead 
of  using  words  he  struck  a  match  to  a  coal-oil  lamp. 
The  flickering  taper  revealed  the  outlines  of  a  small 
cluster  of  men  with  arms  raised  discreetly  aloft  and 
with  that  particular  grin  upon  their  lips  which  is 
generally  described  as  sheepish. 

Rangy  Pete,  with  a  six-gun  in  his  right  hand, 
and  with  his  coat  dangling  from  the  other,  eyed 
them  coldly,  with  unsmiling  deliberation. 

"I'm  counting  a  whole  lot  of  gents  what  has  a 
pile  of  judgment,"  he  began.  "No  you  don't,  Buck 
Menzie.  Keep  them  up,  for  I'm  thinking  you  ain't 
got  the  price  to  go  buying  wooden  kimonos.  Lefty, 
there  ain't  nothing  so  healthful  as  sticking  the 
fingers  in  the  air  and  kinda  reaching  up.  It's  good 
for  the  constitushun  when  there's  a  gent  looking  at 


170  RANGY    PETE 

you  from  the  wrong  end  of  a  bit  of  artillery.  Now, 
Ike,  it's  yore  turn  to  wag  yore  little  tongue.  Don't 
be  afraid,  Ike.  Tell  me  what  it's  all  about,  for  they 
ain't  nobody  gonna  hurt  daddy's  little  boy  now. 
What  one  of  the  said  gents  with  the  peace  sign  stuck 
up  has  been  trying  to  go  to  wasting  lead  on 
you?" 

Ike  Collander  was  temperamentally  inclined  to 
enjoy  the  situation  to  some  greater  length,  but  a 
glance  from  Sheriff  Stipples  seemed  to  imply  that 
his  present  conduct,  if  unfavorable,  would  be  checked 
up  against  him  for  future  use. 

"You  big  lummux!"  Ike  roared  out,  "was  that 
you  in  the  storeroom  alia  time?" 

"Whether  I'm  me  or  somebody  else  ain't  got 
nothing  to  do  with  it,"  Rangy  decreed.  "What  I'm 
getting  sort  of  impatient  about  is  who's  been  so 
permiskuous  with  lead  in  little  Ike's  store.  Don't 
you  be  afraid,  Ike,  for  if  any  of  these  buckos  has 
been  trying  to  make  you  dance  some  — 

"Was  you  alone  in  there?"  Collander  demanded 
with  vigor.  "And  what  do  you  mean  by  coming 
sneaking  around  that  way  without  letting  me  know? 
How's  I  to  know  you  wasn't  one  of  them  Dervishers 
come  back?" 

Rangy  permitted  a  little  of  the  severity  to  relax 
from  his  features. 

"Seeing  that  Ike  can't  talk  straight,  you  can  set 
yore  tongue  to  working,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  he  addressed 


RANGY   PETE  171 

Stipples,  "and  the  quicker  you  let  me  know  what's 
been  happening  —  " 

"Ike  musta  got  a  touch  of  the  willies;  that's  all 
I  know  about  it,"  Stipples  broke  in  hurriedly.  "He 
come  running  out  into  the  street  saying  there's  some 
Dervishers  in  the  back  room,  so  we  kinda  surrounded 
the  place.  It's  me  what  fired  into  the  room.  Didn't 
you  hear  me  bidding  you  to  come  out?" 

Rangy  Pete  slipped  his  gun  back  into  its  holster 
and  a  grin  came  to  his  lips. 

"You  can  all  take  down  the  peace  flags,  gents," 
he  returned.  "Shore,  I  heard  something,  Sheriff. 
But  being  asleep,  I  kinda  thought  it  was  a  funny 
dream.  That's  what  made  me  peevish,  to  be  woke 
up  that  way.  And  ain't  Ike  the  queer  little  cuss? 
Ike's  shore  gotta  pay  for  thinking  I'm  a  Dervisher, 
and  since  you  gents  has  appointed  me  judge,  I'll 
say  Ike's  gotta  take  us  all  over  to  Tony  Burke's  and 
set  them  up  for  the  bunch.  What  you  say,  gents?" 

Even  to  Ike  Collander  the  solution  seemed  to  be 
a  happy  one.  For  experience  had  taught  him  that 
the  surest  way  to  still  the  ridicule  of  such  an  incident 
would  be  to  drown  its  memory  in  red-eye.  At  the 
front  doorway  they  met  the  three  punchers  from  the 
Snaky  Y  who  had  formed  the  attacking  party  at  the 
rear,  and  though  there  was  marked  disappointment 
in  their  manner,  it  vanished  the  moment  they  learned 
the  nature  of  the  punishment  which  Rangy  had 
inflicted  upon  Collander. 


172  RANGY    PETE 

To  Rangy  Pete  also  the  solution  seemed  feasible, 
for  with  these  curious  ones  safely  deposited  in  Tony 
Burke's  saloon,  it  should  be  a  relatively  simple 
matter  to  slip  from  their  midst,  continue  his  pillage 
of  the  Collander  store,  and  return  to  Miss  Dick  all 
within  the  time  limit  of  an  hour. 

But  if  he  failed  in  that?  A  slight  tremor  of  doubt 
swept  over  him  and  for  the  moment  left  him  cold 
and  speechless. 

On  the  way  a  number  of  curious  citizens  who  had 
been  attracted  by  the  sound  of  firing  were  included 
in  (Hollander's  punishment,  and  that  was  gratifying 
to  Rangy  Pete.  The  larger  the  number,  the  better 
would  be  his  opportunities  for  escape  from  their 
importunities.  The  quicker  would  be  his  return  to 
Miss  Dick. 

As  they  crossed  the  highway  Rangy  glanced  down 
the  dusty  thoroughfare  and  wondered  idly  at  the 
number  of  cayuses  strung  along  the  hitching-posts. 
Doubtless  then*  owners  had  been  drawn  by  that 
recent  fire  in  the  chaparral  and  now  they  were 
remaining  to  add  to  that  spasmodic  burst  of  excite- 
ment which  had  so  suddenly  gripped  the  citizens  of 
Triple  Butte. 

Cayuses  dotted  the  whole  length  of  the  town's 
roadway  —  and  there,  in  front  of  the  Hash  Knife 
saloon,  a  black  cluster  of  horses  whose  number 
astonished  him.  Then  almost  instantly  his  brows 
drew  together  in  a  worried  frown.  That  would  be 


RANGY    PETE  173 

the  punchers  from  the  Double  K,  the  boys  of  his 
old  association,  the  boys  with  whom  he  had  ridden 
and  worked  and  fought,  until  the  recent  anger  of 
old  Calvin  Bracken  had  sent  him  along  his  way. 

Rangy  Pete's  devotion  to  the  Double  K  still 
remained,  and  that  is  why  the  frown  deepened  upon 
his  brow.  For  never  yet,  in  his  memory,  had  the 
Double  K  and  the  Snaky  Y  punchers  come  together 
in  force  without  the  red  of  blood  dyeing  the  event 
and  planting  still  deeper  the  roots  of  the  old  feud 
which  in  his  day  had  stamped  out  so  many  lives. 

The  Double  K  at  the  Hash  Knife  and  the  Snaky  Y 
at  Tony  Burke's  I  Just  a  few  hundred  yards  separat- 
ing them  from  the  untold  possibilities  of  the  future. 

On  another  occasion  he  might  have  welcomed 
that  situation,  with  all  its  thrill  of  temporary  mad- 
ness; but  tonight,  with  Miss  Dick  waiting  for  him 
out  there  at  the  edge  of  the  chaparral,  and  with  the 
minutes  swiftly  flying  away,  it  was  quite  a  different 
thing.  If  only  he  knew  what  Miss  Dick  would 
really  do,  in  case  he  did  not  return  within  the  hour! 

And  here  was  himself,  an  old  member  of  the 
Double  K,  walking  calmly  into  the  danger  of  Tony 
Burke's  saloon.  He  had  scarcely  thought  of  that 
before,  but  now  there  was  with  him  the  sudden 
memory  that  already  he  was  more  than  half  sus- 
pected by  Dan  Merrill.  Rough  House  Dan  had 
been  sneering  when  they  two  were  alone  out  there 
on  the  chaparral.  What  would  he  be  now,  reinforced 


1T4  RANGY    PETE 

by  a  crew  of  his  punchers,  when  he  had  had  the 
time  to  ponder  more  deeply  upon.  Rangy's  recent 
actions? 

All  that  came  to  Rangy  in  a  flash  and  it  was  with 
him  even  while  Stipples,  by  virtue  of  his  office, 
pushed  his  way  forward  to  the  bar. 

"These  here  gents  are  all  under  arrest,"  Stipples 
announced  in  a  loud  voice.  "They're  all  arrested 
and  brought  to  the  bar,  and  the  punishment  what's 
coming  to  them  is  to  keep  on  swallowing  the  red-eye 
as  long  as  Lefty  Merker  can  hand  it  out.  Lefty, 
you  go  even  with  the  bunch,  and  when  you  start 
spilling  thfe  drinks  the  arrests  are  over.  The  first 
is  on  Ike  Collander,  and  after  that,  any  gent  what's 
got  a  kindly  feeling  in  his  heart  can  join  the  bunch 
by  slipping  the  right  password  to  Lefty  Merker. 
The  password  '11  be-  'This  one's  on  me,  Lefty.* 
Come,  gents,  they  ain't  even  ringers  barred." 

Immediately  in  front  of  the  party  were  Merrill 
and  Bill  Sonnes,  leaning  negligently  against  the  bar 
and  adopting  an  annoying  air  of  proprietorship. 
Rangy  cast  a  quick  glance  about  and  decided  that 
the  air  was  doubtless  justified,  judging  by  the 
amount  of  support  which  Merrill  and  Sonnes  had 
scattered  about  the  huge  room.  There  were  Snaky  Y 
punchers  everywhere. 

Merrill's  glance  met  his  coldly,  then  traveled  on 
to  the  rest  of  the  party. 

"What  you  so  cocky  about,  Stipples?"  Merrill 


RANGY    PETE  175 

demanded  arrogantly.  "You  been  catching  some 
more  Dervishers?" 

The  demand  necessitated  an  explanation;  and 
Rangy  Pete,  watching  Merrill  shrewdly,  could  see 
that  the  working  of  his  frequent  potations  was 
having  its  usual  effect  upon  the  man.  At  this  par- 
ticular stage  Merrill  was  inclined  to  unbend;  he 
even  looked  at  Rangy  with  a  tolerant,  judicial  eye, 
which  reserves  judgment,  and  he  consented  to  laugh 
harshly  at  the  story  which  Stipples  had  to  tell. 

But  Rangy  knew  that  was  for  the  present  only. 
The  future  libations  of  Dan  Merrill,  he  knew  from 
experience,  would  shortly  have  an  entirely  different 
effect.  Ordinarily  it  would  amuse  him  to  see  the 
situation  through;  but  tonight,  with  Miss  Dick 
awaiting  him  impatiently  somewhere  out  in  the 
darkness  — 

In  that  instant   Rangy  decided   upon   discretion. 

"What  you've  been  saying  sounds  all  right, 
Stipples,"  he  inserted,  "but  such  an  important  event 
as  this  should  not  be  pulled  off  without  a  referee. 
Now,  what  gent'll  volunteer  to  keep  his  throat  dry 
and  then  say  who  wins  the  bout?" 

The  sacrificial  role  of  the  referee  was  such  a  shock 
to  the  gathering  that  volunteers  were  totally  lacking, 
though  the  suggestion  won  its  measure  of  approval. 

"Seeing  there's  no  self-sacrificing  gent  in  the 
crowd,  I'll  be  taking  on  them  public-spirited  duties 
myself,"  Rangy  pronounced,  and  in  doing  so  he 


176  RANGY    PETE 

won  the  temporary  fervor  of  popularity.    "Now  set 
them  up,  Lefty,  and  make  it  fast." 

With  the  bout  well  under  way  and  with  Merrill's 
passing  mellowness  still  tolerating  his  presence, 
Rangy  began  to  take  swift  stock  of  the  situation. 
Another  fifteen  minutes  and  the  condition  of  the 
drinkers  would  be  such  that  he  would  not  be  missed. 
He  could  then  slip  away,  fulfil  his  policy  of  pillage, 
and  leave  the  future  to  decide  that  troublesome 
problem  of  Miss  Dick. 

Fifteen  minutes  more,  and  that  would  leave  him 
time  to  spare. 

Things,  in  spite  of  obstacles,  were  working  out 
satisfactorily;  if  only  there  were  no  further  com- 
plications! 

One  gratifying  feature  was  that  there  were  no 
Double  K  punchers  in  the  saloon.  Doubtless  they 
were  all  down  at  the  Hash  Knife,  carrying  out  a 
duplication  of  this  particular  scene.  In  that  instant 
he  wondered  if  it  would  be  policy  to  slip  down  to 
the  Hash  Knife  in  an  effort  to  start  the  Double  K 
boys  on  their  way  home;  but  before  he  had  decided 
that  point  he  found  his  attention  drawn  by  a  pair 
of  eyes  resting  upon  him  from  the  far  end  of  the 
room. 

It  was  with  the  sensation  of  surprise  that  he 
recognized  the  lean,  leathery  face  about  those  eyes. 

Ring'em  Foster  in  Triple  Butte! 

Ring'em  Foster  of  the  Triangle  O,  and  about  him, 


RANGY    PETE  177 

in  the  remote  corner  of  the  bar,  were  four  other  men, 
all  tall,  leather-faced  punchers  like  himself. 

Rangy  sauntered  in  their  direction.  It  was  rather 
a  daring  thing,  he  knew,  for  Ring'em  Foster  of  the 
Triangle  O  to  appear  in  the  same  room  with  Dan 
Merrill  of  the  Snaky  Y,  for  his  memory  was  most 
vivid  with  the  details  of  their  last  meeting.  It  was 
a  heated  moment,  that  last  meeting,  when  Merrill, 
caught  off  his  guard,  had  looked  down  the  barrel  of 
a  six-gun  and  had  listened  with  empurpled  counte- 
nance to  well  defined  charges  of  brand-blotting  and 
debt-dodging.  When  the  trouble  between  them 
began,  Rangy  did  not  know;  and  though  he  recog- 
nized that  Merrill  was  notorious  in  evading  his  legal 
debts  and  used  the  mailed  fist  to  entrench  his  stand, 
it  was  with  a  touch  of  impatience  now,  rather  than 
sympathy,  that  he  walked  towards  Ring'em  Foster. 

For  even  the  presence  of  Foster  might  complicate 
a  smoothing  situation  and  keep  him  from  that 
appointment  with  Miss  Dick. 

"Hello,  Rangy.  Barred  from  drinks?"  Foster 
greeted.  "Have  one  on  us." 

Foster  smiled  his  friendship,  as  did  those  four 
other  leather-featured  men;  but  instantly  it  became 
obvious  that  their  drinks  were  of  the  non-intoxicating 
brand.  To  Rangy  Pete  that  fact  alone  was  something 
of  an  augury. 

"Ain't  you  a  whole  lot  of  distance  from  the  old 
home  town?"  Rangy  bantered  easily,  to  hide  his 


178  RANGY    PETE 

frown.  "  You  five  little  boys  shouldn't  be  wandering 
about  all  alone.  Ain't  you  afraid  somebody'll  rope 
you  and  put  a  new  brand  on?" 

Ring'em  Foster  grinned  in  a  confident  way. 
"Been   down  to   the  Hash   Knife  tonight?"   he 
asked  quietly. 

Rangy  stared  for  a  moment. 
"Jumping  Mavericks!"   he  exclaimed.     "And  I 
thought  they  were  the  Double  K  boys.     What's 
eating  you,  Ring'em?    Why  this  warpath  stuff?" 

"I've  got  a  date  on  with  Dan  Merrill,"  Foster 
continued  to  grin.  "No,  not  the  kind  you  mean. 
I'm  thinking  the  trouble  is  over.  But  I'm  having  a 
little  session  with  Dan,  and  I'd  like  you  as  witness, 
Rangy." 

Rangy  calculated  swiftly. 
"How  long?"  he  demanded. 
"Ten  or  fifteen  minutes  at  the  most,"  Foster 
assured. 

Rangy    nodded   his    agreement.     The    time,    he 

decided,   must  be  passed   in   some   way;   so   what 

better  augury  than  to  spend  it  as  the  witness  of  peace. 

"All  right,  Juke,"  Foster  spoke  quickly,  "slip  the 

word  to  Burke.    This  way,  Rangy." 

As  he  followed  towards  a  private  room  at  the 
rear,  Rangy  tried  to  convince  himself  that  it  was 
the  right  thing  for  the  Triangle  O  to  be  in  Triple 
Butte  in  force.  The  Triangle  O!  He  rather  thrilled 
at  the  thought  of  that.  The  Triangle  O  boys,  noted 


RANGY    PETE  179 

for  attending  strictly  to  their  own  business;  famed 
on  the  ranges  because  they  were  slow  to  start  any- 
thing; but  who  never  yet  had  started  anything  they 
were  not  prepared  to  finish. 

While  he  followed  Ring'em  Foster,  Rangy  won- 
dered if  the  man's  calmness  were  but  a  cloak  to 
conceal  the  fact  that  he  really  had  started  something 
with  Dan  Merrill.  And  was  Foster  dragging  in  him, 
Rangy  Pete?  Already  his  relations  with  Merrill 
were  sufficiently  strained.  Not  that  it  would  matter 
under  ordinary  conditions;  but  the  present,  with 
its  entanglements  of  Miss  Dick,  was  far  from  the 
ordinary. 

Once  inside  the  scantily  furnished  room,  Foster 
took  up  his  position  by  the  wall,  calmly  and  watch- 
fully, it  seemed. 

He  had  no  word  of  explanation  to  make  and 
shortly  the  door  opened.  Merrill,  arrogant  and 
flushed,  stepped  through  and  closed  it  behind  him. 

The  man's  eyes,  reddened  from  his  stiff  potations, 
swept  from  one  to  the  other;  than  a  snarl  leaped 
to  his  lips. 

"Takes  the  two  of  you,  does  it?"  he  sneered. 
"Well,  damn  you,  Foster,  you  haven't  got  me  yet!" 

Foster  did  not  make  the  slightest  movement; 
but  Merrill,  with  a  quick,  downward  jerk  of  the 
arm,  swung  his  six-gun  from  its  holster. 

The  gun  was  on  its  upward  arc  when  Rangy  Pete 
reached  out  and  gripped  Merrill's  wrist  in  a  para- 


180  RANGY    PETE 

lyzing  hold,  so  that  for  a  moment  the  huge  Merrill 
stood  there  moveless,  glaring  savagely  about  him, 
with  arm  half  raised. 

"You  got  me  wrong."  Foster's  lips  parted  in  a 
cold  smile.  "If  it  had  been  anything  like  that, 
Merrill,  don't  think  I  would  have  troubled  to  get 
you  away  from  that  gang  of  cut-throats  you  call 
punchers." 

Relief  swept  into  Merrill's  astonished  features. 
The  confusion  of  drink  seemed  to  leave  him  and  he 
summoned  to  his  countenance  the  semblance  of  a 
smile.  Back  of  it  was  the  tracery  of  wile,  but  for 
the  moment  the  dominating  declaration  upon  his 
face  was  one  of  relief. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  demanded,  without  any 
falling  off  of  arrogance.  "You  can't  blame  me  for 
wanting  to  look  at  you  with  a  gun,  since  that's  the 
last  way  you  were  looking  at  me  the  time  I  saw  you 
down  at  Holport." 

Foster's  brows  narrowed  slightly  at  the  other's 
tones,  and  his  voice  was  firm  when  he  replied: 

"It  seemed  to  me  you  would  know  all  about  it, 
Merrill,  since  I  got  a  message  a  few  days  ago  to 
meet  you  here  tonight." 

"A  message  to  meet  me?"  Merrill  exclaimed. 
"I  ain't  been  sending  out  any  messages  to  you." 

"So  I  imagined,"  Foster  agreed.  "But  here  is 
the  message  just  the  same." 

As   he  spoke,  Ring'em    Foster  tossed   an  abbre- 


RANGY    PETE  181 

viated  sheet  of  paper  upon  the  table  between  them 
and  motioned  for  Merrill  to  take  it  up. 

But  Merrill  stood  there  scowling. 

"  Want  to  get  the  drop  on  me?  "  he  sneered.  "No, 
you  don't  pull  anything  like  that." 

Foster  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Merrill,"  he  returned,  with 
weakening  patience.  "If  I  had  wanted  the  drop 
on  you,  I  could  have  had  it  a  dozen  times  tonight. 
Well,  if  I  have  to  read  it,  here  it  is  —  'Meet  Dan 
Merrill  in  Triple  Butte  three  nights  from  this.  He 
will  have  ten  thousand  dollars  towards  paying  off 
that  money  he  owes  you.'  It  is  signed  merely  — 
*A  well  wisher,  in  gratitude'." 

Raucous  oaths  swept  to  Merrill's  lips,  so  that  for 
a  tune  his  passion  seemed  volcanic.  He  thrust  his 
derringer  in  its  holster  as  though  battling  with  the 
temptation  to  use  it;  then,  when  he  had  somewhat 
calmed,  he  snatched  at  the  paper  and  glared  at  it 
savagely. 

Dan  Merrill  seemed  to  read  it  through,  then  he 
glared  again,  first  at  Ring'em  Foster,  then  at  Rangy 
Pete.  His  lips  opened  and  closed  sharply,  as  though 
he  were  gasping  for  breath  or  words. 

In  time  Merrill  crushed  the  paper  in  his  hand; 
then  he  leaned  across  the  table  and  whispered 
savagely : 

"Was  that  message  sent  to  you,  Foster?"  he  asked 
harshly. 


182  RANGY    PETE 

"It  was,"  Foster  informed;  and  Rangy  Pete, 
looking  from  one  man  to  the  other  in  swift  astonish- 
ment, felt  that  there  was  surprise  even  in  Foster's 
manner.  "It  was  delivered  one  night  at  the  Triangle 
O  by  a  strange  rider.  My  boys  thought  he  must 
have  been  one  of  your  new  punchers.  Anyway,  the 
message  was  really  delivered  to  me  three  nights  ago 
and  I  believed  it.  Here  I  am,  Merrill,  waiting  for 
that  ten  thousand  on  account." 
v  Again  Merrill's  eyes  swept  about  the  room  in  a 
puzzled  manner  which  was  partly  suspicious  anger. 

"See  that  writing!"  he  spoke  in  quick,  jerky 
words.  "It's  a  woman's.  A  woman  wrote  that! 
A  woman  knew  it  was  going  to  happen." 

Merrill's  words  trailed  away  into  silence,  and 
shortly  the  man  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the 
room  like  a  caged  animal,  as  though  for  the  tune 
he  had  forgotten  the  presence  of  the  others. 

Rangy  Pete  looked  on  in  wonder,  and  even  Foster, 
he  could  see,  was  vastly  puzzled  by  Merrill's  attitude. 

"It's  the  money  I  came  for,  not  dramatics," 
Foster  broke  in  sharply;  and  at  sound  of  the  voice 
Merrill  paused  in  his  tramping  and  stood  there 
glaring. 

Yet  that  glare,  so  far  as  Rangy  was  able  to  analyze 
it,  had  but  little  to  do  with  Ring'em  Foster.  It 
concerned  something  quite  apart  from  Foster  and 
seemed  to  be  fixed  rather  upon  the  wall  above 
Foster's  head  than  upon  the  man  himself. 


RANGY    PETE  185 

"A  woman  knew  it  was  going  to  happen!" 
Merrill  burst  out  violently.  "A  woman!  Do  you 
hear  that,  Foster?" 

There  was  wonder  in  Foster's  voice  when  he 
asked: 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Merrill?  A  woman 
knew  what  was  going  to  happen?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

Merrill's  swarthy  features  twisted  suddenly  and 
the  lips  broke  out  into  an  ill-omened  grimace.  It 
appeared  in  that  instant  as  though  he  had  been 
snatched  back  into  a  saner  consciousness,  as  though 
his  feverish  brain  abruptly  grasped  something  which 
had  been  eluding  him;  for  he  laughed,  and  though 
it  was  but  a  hollow  echo,  Rangy  knew  instinctively 
that  his  mood  had  entirely  changed. 

"Nothing  at  all,  Foster,"  he  replied  more  calmly. 
"I  haven't  that  money  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
You've  been  faked  and  you've  had  your  trip  for 
nothing.  There's  a  joker  around  here  somewhere." 

For  a  moment  Foster's  features  darkened;  then 
with  an  effort  he  spoke  quietly. 

"When  are  you  going  to  have  it,  Merrill?"  he 
asked.  "You  have  been  owing  me  that  money  and 
a  whole  lot  more  for  several  years  now,  and  it  is  a 
strange  thing  to  me  where  your  money  goes  to. 
Here  I  stock  your  ranch  for  you  in  the  first  place, 
Merrill,  when  you  come  in  a  stranger.  And  because 
I  had  a  little  heart  and  eased  up  on  you  for  a  few 


184  RANGY    PETE 

years,  you  seem  to  think  you  can  keep  on  dodging 
debts  forever.  You've  sold  more  steers  the  last 
three  years  than  I  have,  and  what's  happened  to 
your  money,  Merrill?" 

The  latter's  features  attempted  a  placating  smile. 

"I've  told  you  before,  Ring'em,  that  every  time 
I  ship  a  carload  of  cattle  East  the  banks  seize  them. 
They've  got  me  tied  up  so  tight  that  I'm  nothing 
but  a  slave  to  them.  They  got  me  when  I  bought 
the  ranch;  you  know  that;  and  they  had  me  before. 
I've  told  you  all  this  before,  Ring'em."  Merrill's 
voice  had  now  assumed  the  slightest  suggestion  of 
a  whine.  "I  told  it  to  you  that  day  down  in 
Holport  before  you  lost  your  head  and  went  a 
pulling  a  gun  on  me.  How  many  times  have  I  got 
to  tell  you,  Foster?" 

"Then  what's  all  this  about  ten  thousand  dollars?" 
Foster  demanded. 

It  was  with  a  palpable  effort  that  Merrill  con- 
tinued his  effort  to  smile.  To  Rangy  Pete  it  seemed 
that  some  particularly  exquisite  torture  were  being 
applied  to  the  man,  but  though  he  studied  the 
situation  swiftly  he  was  totally  unable  to  find  the 
answer. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  Merrill  forced 
a  reply.  "You've  been  bunked,  Ring'em,  and  that's 
all  there's  to  it.  You  know  I  ain't  ever  had  any 
money  in  the  banks  around  this  part  of  the  country, 
'cause  I  couldn't  get  any  to  put  in.  You  know  that, 


RANGY    PETE  185 

because  you've  asked  every  bank  there  is.  You  know 
I  never  get  more  than  a  few  hundred  dollars  at  a 
time,  just  enough  to  keep  my  punchers  stringing 
along  —  " 

Foster  waved  his  hand  impatiently. 

"All  right,  Merrill,  enough,"  he  ordered,  "but  I 
know  you  are  hiding  something.  And  take  it  from 
me,  Merrill,  I  am  out  from  this  minute  to  find  out 
what  it  is.  Now  listen,  for  I've  got  a  few  things  to 
say  to  you.  You  came  from  the  East.  We  never 
knew  you  around  this  country  and  perhaps  we  don't 
yet.  We're  easy  around  here  with  the  stranger. 
We  make  the  road  smooth  for  him;  but  take  it  from 
me,  there's  a  limit  to  patience,  and  if  you've  been 
•holding  out  on  me,  you'll  need  a  bigger  flock  of 
hardware  than  you're  carrying  tonight,  and  a  bigger 
gang  of  rough-necks  than  you  have  at  the  Snaky  Y 
to  see  you  through  it.  Now,  get  out." 

There  was  the  cold  flame  of  purpose  in  Ring'em 
Foster's  eyes  as  Dan  Merrill  swung  noisily  through 
the  doorway;  but  there  was  uncertainty  as  well. 

"Do  you  think  he's  holding  out,  Rangy?"  Foster 
asked  crisply.  "How  does  he  stand  around  here?" 

Rangy  shrugged  his  shoulders  casually. 

"Owes  everybody  in  sight.  The  same  sad  tale  is 
told  wherever  Dan  Merrill  hits  the  trail.  It's  been 
a  kind  of  a  mystery  around  here  how  Dan  could  sell 
so  many  steers  and  steal  a  few  of  the  Double  K 
calves,  and  yet  never  have  any  money.  But  that 


186  RANGY    PETE 

ain't  got  anything  to  do  with  me,  Ring'em.  I'm 
due  out  of  here  this  minute." 

"So  am  I,"  Foster  agreed. 

The  fifteen  minutes  which  Foster  had  asked  were 
rather  more  than  up,  so  that  Rangy  found  himself 
hurrying  out  in  the  direction  of  Tony  Burke's  front 
saloon.  There  was  still  plenty  of  time  to  fulfil  the 
mission  of  Miss  Dick  within  the  hour  limit;  but 
discretion  demanded  that  he  be  seen  once  more  by 
the  roisterers.  Just  a  minute  or  two  in  the  outer 
room  would  do  it;  then  he  would  slip  away  into  the 
uncertainty  of  the  night. 

Rangy  began  to  work  his  way  slowly  and  carelessly 
through  the  crowd,  avoiding  entanglements  and 
complications;  and  he  was  half  way  to  the  door  when 
the  abrupt  sound  of  a  voice  halted  him. 

"And  if  there  ain't  old  horn-toad  Pete!"  The 
roaring  voice  was  compelling  the  attention  of  the 
whole  room,  but  not  the  least  astonishing  feature  of 
it  was  that  its  owner  was  perched  calmly  upon  the 
bar  with  Sheriff  Stipples  and  two  or  three  of  the 
Snaky  Y  punchers  about  him. 

It  was  Jumbo  Irish.  Jumbo  Irish  of  the  Double  K, 
alone  amid  the  throng  of  Snaky  Y  punchers  who, 
at  an  instant's  notice,  might  swing  into  vengeful 
enemies ! 

Rangy  Pete  heaved  a  sigh  of  weariness. 

More  time  must  be  snatched  from  those  precious 
minutes  which  remained  to  him  for  the  carrying  out 


RANGY    PETE  187 

of  Miss  Dick's  mission.  For  he  could  not  leave 
Jumbo  Irish,  or  even  the  most  humble  member  of 
the  Double  K  for  that  matter,  in  such  a  precarious 
position  as  Jumbo  now  occupied.  Temporarily,  he 
could  see,  Jumbo  was  enthroned,  in  compliance 
with  some  strange  whim  of  the  Snaky  Y;  but  the 
future,  he  knew,  when  tangled  with  red-eye  and 
reckless  punchers,  can  be  more  fickle  than  the  winds 
of  springtime. 

No,  there  was  no  alternative.  He  must  get  Jumbo 
Irish  beyond  danger. 

Out  of  the  comparative  silence  Bill  Sonnes'  voice 
roared. 

"Rangy,  this  shore  is  one  busy  night  for  the 
referee.  You  got  another  job  on  your  hands.  You 
just  squint  your  eyes  at  Jumbo  and  tell  us,  is  he 
gone  loco,  or  isn't  he?" 

Inwardly,  Rangy  Pete  was  writhing.  The  situa- 
tion, he  could  foresee,  was  apt  to  consume  much 
valuable  time. 

"Who  ever  said  he  was  anything  but  loco?*' 
Rangy  asked  gravely. 

"I'm  submitting,  gents,"  Jumbo  grinned  in 
reply,  "that  Rangy  ain't  qualified  to  judge.  For 
he  owes  me  fifty  yellow  boys." 

A  roar  of  interest  greeted  this  announcement  and 
Jumbo  seemed  in  no  way  loath  to  explain. 

"It's  all  gotta  do,  gents,  with  that  Dervisher  I 
brought  in.  Yesterday  afternoon  Rangy  and  me 


188  RANGY    PETE 

meets  up  on  the  Double  K  trail  while  youse  gents 
are  chasing  bandits.  We  each  finds  a  place  on  the 
trail  north  of  Little  Forks  where  a  Dervisher  has 
sloped  it  away  from  the  main  herd.  So,  being 
sporting  gents,  we  each  takes  a  trail  and  we  bet 
fifty  yellow  boys  on  who's  gonna  bring  in  a  Dervisher 
first.  I  got  my  boy  bedded  down  in  the  calaboose, 
and  if  Rangy  ain't  toting  his  around  somewhere, 
then  I  win.'* 

Rangy  could  see  the  yawning  of  treacherous 
ground  before  him.  Too  close  probing  of  the  incidents 
of  the  past  hours  would  not  do  at  all.  A  refusal  to 
discuss  them  would  be  no  better.  Besides,  there  was 
always  the  possibility  that  Buzzard  Flynn  had  talked. 

"I'm  hearing  what  you  say  about  having  a  short- 
horn rounded  up,  Jumbo,"  he  replied,  as  he  tried 
to  read  swiftly  through  the  darkening  future,  "but 
what  has  that  got  to  do  with  what  Bill  Sonnes  has 
been  asking  me?" 

Sonnes  interrupted  with  drunken  laughter. 

"He's  been  springing  a  queer  story  on  us,  Rangy," 
Sonnes  informed.  "He  told  Stipples  that  he  caught 
one  bandit  at  night,  and  when  he  woke  up  in  the 
morning,  said  bandit's  gone,  but  there's  another 
sleeping  all  nice  and  cosy  where  he  left  the  first. 
So  I'm  asking  you,  curious  like,,  to  sav  if  Jumbo  is 
loco  or  if  he  ain't." 

Rangy  assumed  a  puzzled  air  and  he  edged  over 
towards  Sonnes. 


RANGY    PETE 


"You  don't  mean  that  Jumbo's  been  saying  any- 
thing like  that?"  he  asked  in  a  loud  whisper. 

"He  shore  has,  because  that's  what  happened." 
Irish  took  up  his  own  defence. 

Dan  Merrill  stepped  through  the  crowd  with  a 
loud  guffaw. 

"How  have  you  been  mixing  them,  Jumbo?"  he 
demanded.  "I  wouldn't  object  nohow  to  getting 
ideas  like  that.  It  must  be  right  restful  at  times." 

A  ripple  of  uneasy  laughter  crept  slowly  over  the 
audience. 

"Better  come  with  me,  Jumbo,"  Rangy  soothed. 
"We'll  go  down  to  the  Hash  Knife  and  have  a  nice 
quiet  little  drink.  I  know  it's  been  awful  hot  these 
two-three  days,  and  they  ain't  no  saying  what 
heat'll  do  to  a  fellow." 

Rangy  moved  towards  the  door,  but  Irish  seemed 
to  find  something  to  resent  hi  the  tones  as  well  as 
in  the  words. 

"You  don't  believe  me?"  he  roared.  "I'm  a 
telling  you  —  " 

With  a  nod  at  Sonnes,  Rangy  Pete  again  made  use 
of  his  bass  whisper. 

"We  gotta  humor  him,"  he  whispered;  then  in  a 
louder  tone  he  addressed  Irish.  "That's  all  right, 
Jumbo.  They  ain't  any  gent  in  the  room  who  don't 
believe  you.  We  all  know  that  road  agents  have  got 
funny  habits.  They  do  things  like  that  all  the 
time  —  " 


190  RANGY    PETE 

"Humor  me,  will  you?"  Irish  bellowed,  in  still 
louder  tones. 

"Shore,  road  agents  do  funny  things,"  Rangy 
went  on,  unheeding  the  noisy  interruption.  "  I  heard 
of  one  once  what  certain  gents  were  gonna  string  up 
because  they  differed  with  him  about  some  yellow 
boys  what  had  wandered  away.  They  had  the  rope 
on  him,  all  ready  to  string  him  up  nice  and  neat, 
when  what  does  he  go  and  do  but  turn  into  a  two- 
year  old  maverick  right  in  their  hands.  So  they 
didn't  string  him  up  at  all.  They  just  threw  a  brand 
on  him,  a  new  kind  of  brand  what  they  made  right 
there,  and  they  turned  him  loose  again.  Nobody 
ain't  ever  seen  anything  of  that  brand  since,  so  that 
goes  to  show  he  must  of  turned  back  into  a  bandit 
when  they  let  him  loose.  I  wouldn't  be  nowhow 
surprised,  Jumbo,  if  you'd  throwed  yore  rope  over 
the  same  fellow.  Did  youse  look  on  his  shoulder 
for  the  brand,  Sheriff?" 

The  situation  was  unprecedented,  even  in  Tony 
Burke's  saloon,  where  strange  tales  were  known  to 
pass  from  lip  to  lip.  The  result  was  still  more  uneasy 
shuffling  on  the  part  of  the  maudlin  drunk,  while 
the  relatively  sober  looked  anxiously  from  Rangy 
Pete  to  Jumbo  Irish  and  back  again. 

"I  didn't  go  lookin*  fer  no  sech  fool  thing  as  that," 
Stipples  returned. 

"Then  I'm  movin'  right  here  that  said  party  of 
liquidated  gents  adjourns  to  the  calaboose  an'  sorta 


RANGY    PETE  191 

: 

inspects  the  bandit  fer  a  brand  what  should  be 
summers  around  the  left  shoulder.  If  they  ain't  no 
brand,  then  I  moves  we  hears  the  rest  of  Jumbo's 
story." 

Such  an  expedition,  feangy  fancied,  might  have 
its  attractions  for  the  semi-intoxicated,  and  if  it 
materialized  it  should  leave  an  opejiing  for  him  to 
separate  himself  quietly  from  the  rest  of  the  party. 
In  that  event  he  could  go  about  his  own  appointed 
duties.  Even  at  that,  he  appreciated,  the  end  might 
be  uncertain,  for  now  the  hour  which  he  had  allowed 
himself  was  more  than  up. 

Rangy's  suggestion  did  appeal  to  the  gathering, 
only  not  entirely  as  he  had  anticipated. 

"We  sure  gotta  look  for  that  brand,"  Buck 
Menzie  decreed,  "but  it  ain't  proper  that  no  band 
of  gents  should  be  traipsin'  down  to  the  calaboose 
to  wait  on  no  Dervisher.  I  moves  an  amendment 
'at  Sheriff  Stipples  brings  the  Dervisher  here  —  " 

A  roar  of  approval  drowned  out  Menzie's  last 
words.  Any  act  which  would  break  up  the  bout 
was  to  be  condemned;  anything  which  would  prolong 
it  was  to  be  condoned. 

"Seein'  'at  the  vote  carries  'thout  bein'  put, 
I  moves  that  two  other  gents  goes  with  Stipples,  an* 
they's  gotta  be  sober  gents,  'cause  we  can't  let  no 
Dervisher  get  away." 

Jumbo  Irish  mounted  to  a  chair  and  temporarily 
took  command  of  the  situation. 


192  RANGY    PETE 

"  'Tain't  no  use  goin'  to  the  calaboose,"  he 
protested,  in  a  far-reaching  voice.  "You  won't  find 
no  brand  like  that  plumb  idjiot  Rangy  Pete's  been 
talkin'  about.  This  person  weren't  never  no  two- 
year-old  maverick  'cause  when  I  first  threw  a  rope 
on  him  he  was  a  woman." 

Any  previous  wave  of  sound  which  had  swept 
over  Tony  Burke's  saloon  was  mild  compared  with 
the  volume  which  greeted  Jumbo's  announcement. 

"How  come  you  to  be  makin'  such  a  statement 
as  that,  Jumbo  Irish?"  Sheriff  Stipples  asked  aggriev- 
edly,  as  soon  as  the  other  noises  would  permit  it. 
"This  here's  a  serious  court  of  the  law.  It  ain't  no 
jokin'  matter,  an*  they  ain't  no  gent  gonna  walk 
into  my  court  an'  go  to  tellin'  stories  what's  con- 
tempt of  court.  Jumbo  Irish,  you  laid  yoreself  open 
to  be  fined  right  severe." 

"How  you  know  it's  a  woman?"  Dan  Merrill 
demanded.  "If  Jumbo  Irish  has  been  a  ropin*  a 
woman,  he's  gotta  tell  about  it.  He  ain't  the  only 
one  what's  got  a  rope  er  what  knows  how  to  use  it." 

A  restlessness  crept  over  Rangy  Pete.  The  situa- 
tion was  developing  in  an  entirely  obstinate  way. 
There  was  something  in  Merrill's  voice  which  implied 
a  thirst  for  delayed  violence,  while  the  uncertain 
attitude  of  the  gathering  was  not  encouraging. 

Jumbo  Irish  was  alone,  unbacked  by  the  boys  of 
the  Double  K,  but  if  he  felt  the  weakness  of  his 
position,  he  did  not  show  it. 


RANGY    PETE  193 

"Shore,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  he  answered 
Merrill.  "I'se  followin'  the  trail  like  I  said,  an* 
after  dark  I  comes  to  a  place  in  the  draw  where 
sumbody's  struck  camp.  Knowin'  it'd  be  a  Der- 
visher,  I  slips  up,  ropes  'em,  an'  when  the  person 
speaks  to  me  I  know  it's  a  woman.  I  didn't  see  her 
face,  'cause  she's  wearin'  a  mask,  but  I  seen  some 
long  hair  what'd  tumbled  down.  She  would'n  say 
she  wa'n't  a  Dervisher,  an'  she  would'n  promise  not 
to  run  away,  so  I  hog-ties  her  fer  the  night  an'  puts 
her  in  a  nice  warm  place  with  my  blanket.  I'm  a 
talkin*  to  the  coyotes  a  hundred  yards  down  the 
draw  all  night,  an'  when  I  goes  back  to  the  woman 
in  the  mornin'  I  finds  she's  a  man,  that  person  what's 
down  in  the  calaboose  now." 

Buck  Menzie  greeted  the  explanation  with 
laughter. 

"You  shore  is  loco,  Jumbo,"  he  decreed.  "We 
don't  even  have  to  ask  Rangy  Pete  about  that, 
'cause  we  all  seen  the  Dervishers  yesterday  afternoon 
an'  they  weren't  no  women  riders  with  them." 

From  between  cups  Ike  Collander  found  occasion 
to  contribute  wisdom  which,  under  other  conditions, 
he  might  have  kept  to  himself. 

*  'Course  you  did'n  see  no  woman  rider,  Buck 
Menzie,  'cause  youse  so  busy  lookin'  up  in  the  air 
to  see  how  high  yore  fingers  was  a  reachin',"  Ike 
wagged  a  finger  in  Menzie's  face.  "But  if  you'd  a 
been  where  I  was,  you'd  a  seen  a  woman.  She's  the 


194  RANGY    PETE 

purtiest  li'l  blue-eyed  thing  you  ever  laid  eyes  to. 
An'  she's  got  hair  what  looks  like  it'd  been  ripenin* 
in  the  sun.  She  winked  at  me  onct,  she  did,  an'  if 
Rangy  Pete  had'n  a  been  there  I  know  she'd  a 
jumped  offen  her  cayuse  an*  been  a  chattin'  with 
me.  She's  the  person  what  got  yore  'vaporated 
apples,  Dan." 

Collander's  statement  appealed  to  sober  the 
revelers  somewhat.  It  was  either  that,  or  they  were 
trying  to  use  their  muddled  brains  to  get  a  grip  upon 
the  situation. 

"It  begins  to  look  as  though  yer  'skused, 
Jumbo,"  Rangy  hastened  to  put  in.  "You  ain't 
altogether  loco,  but  they's  sumthin*  queer  been  a 
goin'  on." 

Sheriff  Stipples'  face,  which  had  gone  temporarily 
blank,  again  assumed  an  expression  of  intelligence 
and  he  swung  about  and  pointed  a  lean  finger  at 
Rangy  Pete. 

"Yer  the  one  what  can  tell  us,"  he  declared. 
"Tony  Burke  told  me  you  stood  right  across  the 
street  with  Ike  Collander  when  the  Dervishers  hit 
town.  Now  did  you  see  any  woman  rider?" 

All  eyes  centered  upon  Rangy  Pete. 

"Naw,  I  didn't  see  a  woman  rider,"  Rangy 
returned  deliberately,  "but  there  was  just  a  kid  of 
a  boy  rider  holding  down  a  cayuse  in  front  of  Ike 
and  me.  I  figured  once  that  I'd  perforate  him, 
but  he  looked  so  young  and  tender  that  I  got  soft- 


RANGY    PETE  195 

hearted.  That  must  be  the  person  Ike's  been 
dreaming  about  in  his  licker;  and  that's  the  same 
person  that  Jumbo's  been  roping  and  thinking  was 
a  woman." 

Jumbo  Irish,  it  became  apparent,  was  much 
relieved.  The  gathering  likewise  seemed  to  feel  the 
release  of  tension.  The  only  persistently  unchari- 
table ones  were  Merrill  and  Sonnes,  and  the  former, 
it  was  obvious  to  Rangy  Pete,  was  looking  about 
for  some  salve  for  his  previous  woes.  He  had  now 
reached  that  stage  in  his  cups  where  he  could  look 
for  trouble  more  courageously,  particularly  as  Jumbo 
Irish,  having  strayed  alone  from  the  ranks  of  the 
Double  K,  appeared  like  an  easy  victim. 

Rangy 's  eyes  grew  sharp  and  watchful,  though 
his  lips  held  their  bantering  grin.  Jumbo,  it  was 
apparent,  would  shortly  need  a  friend,  and  he  must 
not  be  allowed  to  face  alone  the  vagrant  whim  of 
the  Snaky  Y.  As  though  to  emphasize  that  obser- 
vation, Sonnes  spoke  sharply,  with  the  querulous- 
ness  of  semi-intoxication. 

"We  otta  string  him  up  anyway,"  Sonnes  pro- 
tested, "since  he's  been  roping  a  woman.  Don't 
matter  if  'twas  a  boy.  He  says  it's  a  woman,  and 
I'm  guessing  he  otta  know." 

In  the  strained  seconds  of  silence  which  followed 
Sonnes'  remark,  the  atmosphere  changed  from  peace 
to  anger. 

Jumbo's    fingers    twitched,   but  he    held    them 


196  RANGY    PETE 

under  control.  For  he  found  that  he  was  looking 
not  only  into  the  faces  of  Sonnes  and  Merrill,  but 
that  back  of  them  were  a  half  dozen  of  the  Snaky  Y. 

Jumbo  Lish  counted  swiftly  the  toll  he  might 
take  before  he  himself  went  out;  then  his  eyes  darted 
past  them  to  the  face  of  Rangy  Pete. 

There  was  something  in  Rangy 's  firm  features 
which  told  him  that  should  a  ciisis  come  they  two 
would  stand  or  fall  together;  yet  now  Rangy  was 
shaking  his  head  sharply. 

Irish  could  see,  as  well,  that  Rangy's  face  became 
a  picture  of  worried  concern  even  as  he  watched. 

For  Rangy  Pete's  glance,  traveling  past  Jumbo  Irish 
through  the  open  window,  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
a  horse  and  rider  disappearing  into  the  darkened 
area  leading  to  the  rear  of  the  Collander  store. 
And  there  could  be  no  possible  mistake  as  to  identity. 

It  was  Miss  Dick. 

Her  hour  was  up.  She  considered  herself  once 
more  free  to  act  according  to  the  sway  of  her  own 
strange  whims.  Rangy  shuddered  slightly  as  he 
thought  of  the  possible  end  to  be  reached  by  the 
girl's  queer  promptings.  She  did  need  a  guiding 
hand  when  sailing  her  course  among  these  reefs  of 
Triple  Butte. 

Yet  here  hi  front  of  him  was  the  tableau  of  Jumbo 
Irish  still  standing  with  twitching  fingers,  and  with 
the  Snaky  Y  crew  only  too  eager  for  him  to  make 
that  one  swift,  battling  move  of  hostility. 


RANGY    PETE  197 

One  angry  shot  fired  in  that  scene  of  semi-intoxi- 
cation would  doubtless  mean  general  carnage.  In  a 
flash,  Rangy  wondered  if  battle  and  carnage  would 
not  help  Miss  Dick  and  her  purpose.  Still,  carnage 
is  impartial.  And  in  this  moment  of  crisis  he  knew 
that  he  must  find  Miss  Dick  again,  if  to  see  no  more 
than  the  cold  flashes  which  shone  at  times  from  her 
eyes. 

"I  wouldn't  go  taking  Bill  up  wrong,"  Rangy 
spoke  in  a  placating  tone.  "We're  just  a  herd  of 
liquidated  gents  together  a  trying  to  paint  the  town. 
I  move  one  more  round;  then  we  adjourn." 

Jumbo  Irish,  recognizing  the  futility  of  attempting 
battle  with  the  whole  of  the  Snaky  Y,  was  quite 
ready  to  charge  up  the  account  against  Bill  Sonnes 
until  conditions  should  be  more  favorable.  The 
bulk  of  the  others  were  relieved  at  the  prospect  of 
seeing  daylight  again  Dan  Merrill  alone  seemed 
keen  to  press  the  issue.  Merrill  by  this  time  had 
become  peevish  and  quarrelsome,  which  was  a 
perfectly  safe  condition  to  be  in,  hi  view  of  the 
backing  which  crowded  about  him. 

"This  person  Irish  has  been  tryin*  to  make  fun 
of  the  hull  lot  of  us,"  he  pronounced.  "He's  been 
tellin'  a  story  what  we  can  see  if  they's  any  truth  in. 
If  it  ain't  true,  then  we  make  him  eat  it." 

"How  you  gonna  test  it?"  Stipples  demanded. 
"We  ain't  got  nothin*  but  his  word  fer  it." 

"We  shore  has,"  Merrill  declared.    "We  got  the 


198  RANGY   PETE 

prisoner.  He  knows  what's  been  a  goin'  on,  even  if 
Irish  don't.  Stipples,  you  mosey  right  along  to  the 
calaboose  an'  bring  him  up  here.  Here  you,  French 
and  Dexter,  you  go  along,  'cause  we  don't  want 
that  prisoner  turnin'  into  no  buckin'  bronco  when 
the  Sheriff's  a  tryin'  to  bring  him  up  here." 

Stipples,  accompanied  by  the  two  Snaky  Y 
punchers,  left  the  saloon  without  question.  Merrill's 
word  was  something  to  be  respected,  particularly 
when  the  querulous  mood  was  upon  him. 

Rangy  Pete  saw  the  future  growing  more  treach- 
erous still.  For  Buzzard  Flynn,  beyond  doubt, 
would  be  quite  eager  to  tell  his  full  story.  That 
would  make  him,  Rangy  Pete,  accountable  for  the 
present  whereabouts  of  the  woman  bandit. 

And  at  this  particular  moment  Miss  Dick  was 
somewhere  at  the  back  of  the  Collander  store, 
doubtless  trying  to  pick  her  way  in,  to  get  that 
case  of  evaporated  apples.  Rangy  found  that 
the  circumstances  were  nagging.  If  he  could  only 
understand  this  keen  desire  for  evaporated  apples 
he  would  be  willing  to  accept  the  situation  more 
cheerfully. 

Rangy  stepped  carelessly  to  the  saloon's  auxiliary 
doorway,  just  beyond  the  end  of  the  bar.  He  stood 
there  for  a  moment  fanning  himself  with  his  som- 
brero, then  he  stepped  just  as  carelessly  out  into 
the  night.  It  was  dark  there,  yet  Rangy  paused 
after  he  had  traveled  a  half  dozen  paces.  He  waited 


RANGY   PETE  199 

for  a  full  minute,  and  when  there  was  no  indication 
from  within  the  saloon  that  he  had  been  missed, 
he  circled  quickly  to  the  back  of  the  building, 
passed  behind  two  other  sets  of  buildings  and  finally 
came  out  upon  the  main  roadway  hi  the  quiet  section 
above  the  saloon.  Here  he  crossed  the  street,  slipped 
between  two  shacks  and  immediately  made  his  way 
to  the  rear  of  the  Collander  store. 

As  he  had  fully  expected,  Rangy  found  a  cayuse 
standing  not  far  from  where  he  had  left  his  own. 
It  was  well  within  the  shadow  of  the  corral,  so  he 
lit  a  match  and  looked  the  animal  over. 

"Shore  is  the  same  bit  of  hoss-hide  what  Miss 
Dick  was  a  ridin*  this  afternoon,"  he  informed 
himself.  "Next  thing  is  to  find  out  where  she's 
sloped  it  to  herself.  An*  if  she  ain't  hidin',  that 
match  otta  tell  her  it's  me." 

Rangy  waited  until  his  eyes  became  once  more 
accustomed  to  the  darkness.  He  looked  carefully 
about  in  all  directions.  He  listened.  There  was 
neither  sound  nor  sight  of  Miss  Dick. 

Already  in  the  street  beyond  he  could  hear  the 
sound  of  the  Sheriff's  party  returning  with  Buzzard 
Flynn. 

Rangy  stepped  to  the  rear  doprway  of  the  Colan- 
der storeroom  and  listened  again.  So  far  as  he  could 
judge,  there  was  no  human  being  within  reach  of 
his  voice,  yet  Rangy  Pete  raised  his  voice  and  spoke 
to  the  night  — 


200  RANGY   PETE 

"I  don't  know,  young  person,  where  yer  hanging 
out,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  this  don't  look  like  no 
healthful  night  hi  Triple  Butte.  I've  got  a  duty  to 
perform,  so  if  you'll  jest  slope  it  back  to  the  place 
where  I  left  you,  I'll  be  there  sumtime  afore  mornin' 
with  what  yer  looking  fer." 

Rangy  paused.  No  answer  but  the  silence  of  the 
night  and  the  approaching  noise  of  the  Sheriff's 
party. 

A  hurried  tour  about  the  Collander  premises  and 
the  corral  told  him  nothing.  A  still  more  hurried 
flight  to  the  Hash  Knife  saloon  was  likewise  unpro- 
ductive. When  that  was  over  Rangy  felt  that  he 
had  no  option  but  to  return  to  Burke's. 

At  the  Hash  Knife  there  were  no  Double  K  boys 
in  sight,  but  the  Triangle  O  punchers  were  very 
much  hi  evidence.  Rangy  counted  sixteen  of  them, 
who,  with  the  five  up  at  Burke's,  made  a  presentable 
little  army.  To  Rangy  Pete  it  seemed  th'at  there 
was  an  atmosphere  of  waiting  about  the  men  from 
the  Triangle  O,  for  though  they  had  every  outward 
appearance  of  carousing,  he  did  not  have  to  lock 
long  to  know  that  every  man  was  absolutely  sober. 

Rangy  returned  to  Burke's  with  a  feeling  that 
the  future  was  a  most  uncertain  thing.  There  was 
a  warning  of  something  in  the  atmosphere  as  he 
once  more  stepped  through  the  side  door  at  the  end 
of  the  bar  and  sauntered  over  in  the  direction  of 
Jumbo  Irish. 


RANGY    PETE  201 

Sheriff  Stipples,  he  could  see,  had  returned  with 
Buzzard  Flynn  in  manacles,  and  as  the  attention 
of  the  crowd  was  turned  entirely  to  Flynn,  Rangy 
found  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  Irish. 

"Hold  yore  head,  ole  timer,'*  he  spoke  to  Jumbo 
hi  a  whisper.  "Don't  let  nothing  I  say  throw  you 
off  yore  feed,  and  remember  we  gotta  see  the  game 
through  together." 

"Where's  Foster  come  into  it?"  Irish  asked 
hurriedly. 

"Watch  him  an*  see.  I  dunno  no  more  about  it 
than  you  do." 

The  crowd  separated  from  Buzzard  Flynn  and 
attention  was  once  more  directed  to  Jumbo  Irish. 

Flynn  was  given  a  stiff  glass  of  red-eye,  after 
which  he  was  elevated  upon  a  chair  and  was  asked 
to  look  the  audience  over  for  the  man  who  captured 
him.  His  eyes  met  those  of  Jumbo  Irish,  then  they 
traveled  on. 

"So  they's  sumbody  been  a  playin*  with  you, 
'sides  Jumbo,"  Dan  Merrill  interpreted  Flynn's 
actions.  "This  shore  is  gettin*  interestinV 

Flynn  did  not  trouble  to  answer.  His  glance 
continued  to  wander.  Rangy  Pete  met  that  glance 
carelessly.  For  he  felt  that  though  he  might  have 
been  foolish  enough  to  tell  Flynn  his  name,  the 
other  had  at  least  not  seen  his  face.  The  nearest 
Flynn  had  come  to  seeing  his  countenance  wfcs 
.under  the  cottonwood,  by  the  dull  light  of  the  fire, 


202  RANGY    PETE 

and  at  that  point,  he  knew,  Flynn  would  not  be 
making  a  very  careful  study  of  features. 

Flynn 's  glance  roved  on  about  the  full  group  of 
men,  then  back  to  Jumbo  Irish. 

"That's  the  person  what  roped  me  an*  brought 
me  in,"  he  said,  as  he  pointed  to  Irish. 

"Then  whyn't  you  tell  us  in  the  first  place?" 
Merrill  demanded  peevishly,  "  'stead  of  goin'  lookin' 
all  about  the  room.  What  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  was  just  counting  my  friends,"  Flynn  returned, 
seemingly  quite  unperturbed.  "And  I  just  want  to 
say  to  them  here,  in  plain  hearing,  that  they  must'n 
hold  any  spite  against  Jumbo  Irish,  'cause  he  used 
me  like  a  white  man  should." 

Merrill,  Sonnes  and  Stipples  looked  over  their 
shoulders  hurriedly,  and  they  shot  swift  glances 
about  the  room  in  all  directions. 

"Who's  yore  friends  in  this  room?"  Merrill 
demanded,  with  a  slight  falling  off  of  arrogance. 
"You  jest  point  'em  out,  Mr.  Bandit,  an'  they  won't 
be  nobody's  friends  fer  long." 

Flynn  laughed  with  a  confidence  which  astonished 
Rangy,  in  view  of  his  lack  of  fortitude  a  few  hours 
ago. 

"Out  of  consideration  for  you,  Dan  Merrill,  I 
withhold  their  names,"  Flynn  replied  easily,  "and 
I  warn  you,  if  you  got  any  respect  fer  yore  hide, 
don't  try  to  string  me  up." 

Merrill  blustered,  but  through  the  bluster  it  was 


RANGY    PETE  203 

t 

plain  that  lie  was  feeling  the  uncertainty  of  the 
situation.  Such  things  had  happened  before,  even 
in  Triple  Butte.  Again  Merrill  looked  hurriedly 
about  and  this  time  he  told  himself  that  there  really 
were  a  number  of  strange  faces  in  the  room. 

"We  ain't  thinkin'  of  stringin'  you  up,  you 
idjiot,"  Merrill  returned.  "We  got  you  here  to  tell 
us  sumthin'.  This  here  person,  Jumbo  Irish,  says 
that  when  he  first  threw  a  rope  over  you,  you  was 
a  woman.  Then  in  the  mornin'  when  he  wakened 
up,  you  had  turned  into  yoreself." 

Rangy,  watching  closely,  could  see  that  Flynn's 
eyes  showed  astonishment.  Flynn  looked  swiftly  at 
Jumbo  Irish,  and  it  was  apparent  to  all  that  he 
shivered  slightly.  Flynn  tried  to  laugh,  but  there 
was  nervousness  in  his  manner. 

"  Gawd,  Mister,  I'm  glad  the  calaboose  is  handy," 
he  exclaimed.  "Won't  sumbody  take  me  back  there 
now?  I  ain't  noways  hankerin' to  be  let  loose  no  more." 

Rangy  Pete  could  see  that  the  situation  was 
having  its  effect  upon  the  semi-maudlin  brains  of 
the  gathering.  He  also  found  himself  a  trifle  mysti- 
fied at  Flynn's  action. 

"You  mean  you  wasn't  a  woman  when  Jumbo 
first  caught  you?"  Sheriff  Stipples  insisted.  - 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  Merrill  broke  in.  "What  we 
wanta  know  is  this,  Mr.  Bandit  —  did  Jumbo  Irish 
catch  a  woman  in  the  evening,  an'  did  you  trade 
places  with  her  through  the  night?" 


204  RANGY    PETE 

"Did  I  trade  places  with  a  woman?"  Flynn 
laughed  harshly.  "Do  you  think  I'm  a  bigger  fool 
than  the  Sheriff?  If  I  let  a  woman  loose,  why  would 
I  stay  behind  myself?" 

Dan  Merrill  removed  his  sombrero  and  ran  his 
fingers  roughly  through  his  hair. 

"Gawd,  Stipples,  that's  right,"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
had'n  thought  of  that,  but  if  anybody  had  let  a 
woman  get  away  from  Irish,  he  shore  would 'n  a 
been  fool  enough  to  stay  himself.  He  would'n  a 
asked  no  woman  to  rope  him  up.  Gawd,  Stipples, 
what's  been  a  goin'  on?" 

The  situation  was  plainly  depressing  and  sobering 
to  the  beliquored  minds  of  Triple  Butte.  Jumbo 
Irish,  it  seemed,  was  conscious  of  that  fact,  for  he 
immediately  took  advantage  of  the  silence  which 
followed  Merrill's  remark. 

"I  don't  wanta  go  contradictin'  Mr.  Bandit 
much,"  he  declared,  "fer  it  ain't  polite.  All  I  wants 
to  do  is  ask,  was  he  a  wearin'  this  here  bit  of  blue 
ribbon  what  fell  offen  his  hair  when  I  first  roped 
him?" 

Jumbo  held  up  for  public  gaze  a  small  section  of 
knotted  ribbon. 

Stipples  promptly  jerked  off  Flynn's  hat  and 
revealed  a  closely  cropped  head. 

"That  shore  ain't  the  head  I  threw  my  rope  over," 
Irish  went  on  with  confidence,  as  he  noted  the 
mystified  air  of  his  audience.  "I  throws  my  rope 


RANGY    PETE  205 

and  it  knocks  off  the  person's  sombrero.  When  I 
comes  up  they's  two  braids  of  flaxen  colored  hair  a 
hangin'  down,  an'  this  here  ribbon  falls  off  the  place 
where  the  braids  had  been  tied  together.  'Tain't 
fer  me  to  make  no  suggestions,  but  I  seem  to  be 
rememberin'  what  Rangy  said  a  while  ago  about 
that  other  bandit  a  turnin'  into  a  two-year-old 
maverick.  If  they's  a  brand  on  this  person's 
shoulder  — " 

"We'll  see  if  there  is,"  Stipples  declared. 

The  Sheriff  was  about  to  carry  his  words  into 
action  when  the  sharp  spat  of  a  revolver  shot  cut 
through  the  other  noises  with  an  insistent  arrogance. 
Stipples  jerked  his  hand  back  from  Buzzard  Flynn 
and  a  quick  silence  fell  upon  the  gathering. 

"Who  done  that?"  Stipples  demanded,  his  face 
puzzled. 

"It  come  from  outside,"  Merrill  declared.  "They 
ain't  nobody  hurt,  is  they?  You  got  friends  out 
there,  you  road  agent?" 

Flynn  smiled  in  a  superior  manner  as  his  eyes 
traveled  to  the  side  door  at  the  end  of  the  bar. 

Through  the  silence  there  could  be  heard  the 
sounds  of  scuffling,  of  stifled  voices,  and  a  moment 
later  three  people  plunged  into  the  room,  seemingly 
with  arms  interlocked.  They  passed  the  end  of  the 
bar  and  reached  a  clearing  which  the  crowd  hastily 
made  for  them.  There  they  came  to  a  pause  and 
when  the  three  had  disentangled  themselves  some- 


SOS  RANGY    PETE 

what  it  was  seen  that  a  man,  smaller  and  slighter 
than  the  average,  was  held  in  the  grip  of  two  Snaky  Jif 
punchers. 

Merrill  recovered  his  poise  rapidly. 

"What  you  got  there,  Fletcher?"  he  addressed 
one  of  the  punchers.  "You  think  you  got  a  prize, 
er  why  you  bringin*  it  in  here?" 

"We  found  it  listenin'  at  the  door,"  Fletcher 
explained,  "so  we  sneaked  up  on  it  from  behind. 
But  it's  a  rip-ringer,  boss.  It  ain't  no  tame  coyote 
like  it  looks.  It  got  Berger  clean  through  the 
shoulder  afore  we  could  do  anything  "with  it.  It 
shoots  about  like  a  streak  of  lightnin',  an'  it'd  a 
got  me  too  if  Dexter  had'n  a  jumped  it  from  behind." 

Dan  Merrill  drew  closer  to  inspect  the  captive. 

"Anything  what  can  get  the  drop  on  Berger  ain't 
keepin'  company  with  no  snails,"  Merrill  declared, 
without  any  apparent  regrets  for  the  wounded 
cowboy. 

Rangy  Pete  abruptly  found  his  attention  divided 
between  the  new  arrival,  Dan  Merrill  and  Ring'em 
Foster. 

Foster,  he  could  see,  was  staring  at  the  captive 
with  frank  astonishment  upon  his  features,  then  he 
turned  quickly  to  his  four  punchers  and  gave  them 
some  whispered  message.  It  was  short  and  quick, 
for  immediately  the  four  men  left  their  places  at  the 
bar  and  almost  at  once  Rangy  lost  sight  of  them. 
At  the  same  instant  he  could  see  that  Foster  was 


RANGY    PETE  207 

pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd  towards   him. 

Even  as  Foster  started  across  the  reeking  saloon, 
Rangy 's  eyes  darted  back  to  Merrill  and  the  captive. 
The  latter  was  standing  between  Fletcher  and 
another  puncher  whom  Rangy  recognized  as  Dirk 
Duffy,  one  of  the  younger  element.  The  captive's 
arms  were  held  tight,  the  sombrero  was  pulled  low 
over  his  face,  so  that  in  the  dim  light  Rangy  could 
tell  only  that  he  must  be  young. 

Merrill  stepped  still  closer  with  a  loud  laugh,  and 
he  put  one  hand  beneath  the  captive's  chin  and 
tilted  it  upward. 

As  Merrill  made  that  move,  Rangy's  hand  darted 
swiftly  to  his  hip.  For  the  light  shining  upon  the 
upturned  face  showed  him  the  round  firm  chin,  the 
oval  cheeks,  the  blue  eyes  which  he  had  followed 
into  the  butte  lands. 

It  was  Miss  Dick,  beyond  a  doubt,  though  Rangy 
had  never  before  seen  her  full  face. 

Rangy's  right  hand  tightened  on  the  butt  of  his 
six-gun.  As  it  tightened  there,  he  felt  his  wrist 
caught  in  the  grip  of  another  man's  hand. 

"Steady,  boy.  Wait,"  a  voice  whispered  in  his 
ear;  and  without  looking  he  knew  it  to  be  Ring'em 
Foster. 

Foster  again?  In  a  quick  flash  Rangy  wondered. 
Then  he  looked  up  at  Jumbo  Irish  and  nodded. 

Rough  House  Merrill  laughed  into  the  upturned 
fac«  of  Misa  Dick. 


208  RANGY   PETE 

Jumbo  Irish  stepped  down  from  his  chair  and 
crossed  to  the  side  of  Ring'em  Foster. 

There  was  something  tense  in  the  atmosphere. 
Even  the  maudlin  drunk  could  tell  that.  For  the 
clamor  of  voices  had  ceased  and  practically  the  only 
sound  in  the  whole  room  was  the  occasional  shuffling 
of  a  restless  foot. 

Dan  Merrill  was  still  laughing  hi  the  girPs  face, 
and  Foster's  hand  was  still  upon  Rangy's  wrist. 

"You  an'  Dirk  shore  has  picked  a  prize,  Flet," 
Merrill  ended  his  laughter,  "fer  it's  a  long  time  since 
I've  seen  sech  a  purty  gent  as  this  a  ridin'  the  ranges. 
What  you  got  to  say  fer  yoreself,  Mister,  'at  you 
gotta  go  listenin'  at  doorways?  An'  what  you  gotta 
say  fer  ruinin'  one  of  my  pet  punchers?" 

Miss  Dick  remained  silent,  though  Rangy  fancied 
that  her  eyes  met  those  of  Ring'em  Foster  and 
remained  there  for  a  moment  of  understanding. 

Again  Merrill  chucked  the  girl's  chin. 

This  time  Merrill's  eye  appeared  to  detect  some- 
thing unusual,  for  his  hand  abruptly  swept  down 
and  pulled  the  girl's  riding  coat  wide  open  at  the 
front. 

A  small,  dark  object  fell  from  behind  the  coat  and 
dropped  to  the  floor.  Merrill  stooped  and  picked  it 
up,  and  when  he  held  it  out  at  arm's  length,  it 
required  no  imagination  for  any  one  in  the  saloon 
to  know  that  it  was  a  mask. 

"A  road  agent,"  Sonnes  exclaimed.   "Let's  hustle 


RANGY    PETE  *09 

him.  They's  a  fine  tree  jest  up  the  trail  a  piece — " 

Merrill  swore  fluently.  A  certain  fever  of  excite- 
ment appeared  to  have  gripped  him. 

He  reached  out  now  and  tore  the  sombrero  from 
her  head,  and  as  he  did  so  a  coil  of  flaxen  hair  was 
loosened  and  fell  about  her  shoulders. 

"Gawd!"  Merrill  exclaimed,  as  he  turned  about 
to  his  audience  with  a  puzzled  expression  upon  his 
features.  "A  girl!" 

•  A  ripple  of  amazement  swept  over  the  gathering, 
then  shortly  there  was  silence  again.  Miss  Dick 
remained  motionless,  staring  straight  before  her 
with  angry  eyes. 

"I  guess  we  ain't  a  gonna  do  no  lyncliin'  now," 
Sonnes  laughed  foolishly.  "But  now  you  got  the 
little  she-cat,  Dan,  what  you  gonna  do  with  her?" 

Stipples,  somehow  or  other,  appeared  to  have 
been  left  out  of  Bill  Sonnes'  calculations. 

"  She's  goin'  to  the  calaboose,"  the  Sheriff  declared. 
"Ain't  we  seen  the  mask?  That's  enough  to  tell  us 
she's  one  of  the  bandits." 

"Calaboose?  Hell!"  Merrill  brushed  Stipples 
aside.  "She  ain't  goin'  to  no  calaboose,  Stipples. 
'Cause  why?  'Cause  she's  a  gonna  go  with  me  out 
to  the  Snaky  Y.  Ain't  you,  you  li'l  hell-fire  pet?" 

Miss  Dick  struggled  slightly  in  her  anger,  and 
Ring'em  Foster  raised  his  left  hand  into  the  air. 

Simultaneously  there  came  a  fusilage  of  revolver 
shots.  There  was  the  crashing  of  glass,  and  instantly 


210  RANGY    PETE 

the  room  was  plunged  into  all  but  darkness.  One 
light  was  left  burning,  an  unimportant  one,  above 
Lefty  Merker's  head,  and  it  showed  the  tableau  of 
figures  standing  about  the  girl  in  dull  relief. 

"Now,"  Foster  whispered,  "fists.  One  each.  Then 
out  the  back  way  and  hold  the  door." 

Rangy  Pete  and  Jumbo  Irish  needed  no  second 
invitation.  They  both  leaped  forward  at  Miss  Dick's 
captors,  with  Foster  at  their  side. 

Merrill,  sensing  then*  attack  rather  than  seeing 
it,  half  turned  his  face.  He  met  Rangy 's  fist  and 
promptly  sagged  to  the  floor  like  a  sack  of  grain. 

Bill  Sonnes,  seeing  the  shadowy  form  of  Irish 
upon  him,  reached  for  his  gun.  He  got  it  from  its 
holster,  but  at  that  instant  Irish's  fist  crashed  into 
his  face.  The  gun  exploded  on  a  line  with  the  feet 
of  the  spectators,  and  there  was  a  scream  even  as 
Sonnes  collapsed  and  slipped  to  the  reeking  floor. 

Foster  attacked  so  swiftly  that  he  felled  Duffy 
and  Fletcher  with  right  and  left-handed  blows,  and 
almost  before  the  gathering  knew  there  had  been 
a  battle,  the  battle  was  over. 

"Quick!"  Foster  whispered,  as  he  took  Miss  Dick 
by  the  arm  and  hurried  her  through  the  side  exit. 

As  he  closed  the  door  behind  Rangy  and  Jumbo 
Irish,  Foster  turned  and  shot  out  the  remaining 
light  above  Merker's  head. 

Outside,  in  the  comparative  darkness,  a  cayuse 
was  standing. 


RANGY    PETE  211 

"That's  mine,"  Miss  Dick  remarked  calmly. 

"Yer  lucky,"  Foster  returned.  "Jump  in  the 
saddle,  Miss,  and  smooch  it.  Hit  fer  the  Double  K, 
and  we'll  come  along  later  and  blind  yore  trail." 

Miss  Dick  mounted  as  Foster  suggested.  Though 
perfectly  calm,  it  was  evident  that  she  appreciated 
the  wisdom  of  his  advice. 

"And,  Miss,  if  I'se  you,  I  wouldn't  go  to  doing 
such  a  foolish  thing  again,"  Foster  added,  even  as  the 
girl  turned  her  cayuse  to  ride  away  into  the 
night. 

"I  won't,  if  certain  gents  will  keep  their  promise," 
she  called  back,  as  she  slipped  into  the  darkness  at 
the  rear  of  the  building. 

"Now  who  did  she  mean  that  for?"  Foster  asked. 

"For  Jumbo,  I'm  betting,"  Rangy  replied.  "For 
if  she  ain't  the  one  Jumbo's  been  talking  about  all 
along,  I'll  be  hog-swizzled." 

Rangy  broke  off  because  of  a  volume  of  noise 
from  within  the  saloon,  which  seemed  to  advertise 
the  fact  that  Dan  Merrill  was  regaining  some  of 
his  interest  in  life. 

"Now  wouldn't  that  be  a  pleasant  little  spot  to 
be  spending  the  next  few  minutes?"  Rangy  digressed. 
"  Have  you  got  any  scruples,  Ring'em,  about  running 
away  from  a  pack  of  coyotes  like  Merrill's  got 
yapping  about  him  now?" 

"No  scruples  at  all  about  running  as  far  as  the 
Hash  Knife.  After  that  we  can  think  it  over." 


RANGY   PETE 

"Shore,  it'll  be  more  peaceful  like  down  there 
for  reflection.  Dan  ain't  got  any  feelings  at  all  for  a 
person  who  wants  to  be  alone  to  reflect.  He'd  most 
likely  wanta  blame  me  because  he  jerked  his  head 
around  when  I  was  trying  to  pat  that  Duffy  boy  on 
the  cheek.  And  he  don't  sound  to  be  in  any  fit  mood 
for  argument.  I  got  a  feeling,  Jumbo,  that  it'd  be 
better  for  the  constitushun  if  we  packed  our  way 
down  behind  the  buildings.  There's  a  bunch  yapping 
out  in  the  street  now  what  sounds  like  they  hadn't 
no  judgment  at  all." 

Rangy  led  the  way  behind  the  row  of  buildings 
standing  between  the  Burke  saloon  and  the  Hash 
Knife,  but  there  was  no  apparent  haste  in  his 
movements. 

"How  about  your  boys  who  shot  out  the  lights, 
Ring'em?"  he  asked  abruptly.  "Are  they  all  right, 
or  should  we  go  back?" 

"I  told  them  to  clear  out  for  the  Hash  Knife  at 
once.  They  will  be  all  right.  Nobody  shot  back, 
you  remember." 

They  tramped  through  a  few  yards  of  silence. 

"Shore,  I  know  now  what  the  girl  meant  when 
she  talked  so  queer,"  Rangy  reverted  to  an  earlier 
topic.  "She  must  be  the  one  what  Jumbo  roped  up 
there  in  the  draw  above  the  Little  Forks,  and  they've 
got  a  date  somewhere  to  talk  things  over.  Jumbo 
didn't  keep  the  date,  so  she  rode  into  town  to  get 
him.  Ouch!  Ain't  you  got  no  better  sense,  Jumbo, 


RANGY    PETE  213 

than  to  go  poking  a  fellow  in  the  ribs  in  the  dark? 
You  might  hurt  yore  knuckles  on  the  butt  of  my 
gun." 

"Supposing  she  is  the  one  I  roped,  how's  that 
gonna  explain  how  that  Flynn  person  took  her  place 
in  the  night?"  Irish  demanded.  "If  I  hadn't  been 
such  a  fool  as  to  go  to  sleep." 

"I'm  thinking,  Jumbo,  that  it  shows  that  you're 
a  perfect  gent.  You  caught  the  both  of  them,  and 
you  let  the  girl  go,  but  you'd  been  better  off  if  you 
hadn't  gone  talking  about  it." 

"I  didn't  capture  no  two  of  them,"  Jumbo  pro- 
tested. 

"Between  you  and  me,  Jumbo,  now  didn't  you? 
You  just  consider  that  Ring'em  ain't  here." 

"No,  I  didn't,"  Jumbo  assured  angrily.  "It  hap- 
pened just  like  I  been  telling  back  there  in  Burke's. 
There  wasn't  no  use  to  lie  about  it.  It's  good  enough 
without." 

"Jumping  mavericks!"  Rangy  exclaimed.  "There 
shore  is  something  queer  going  on  back  in  them 
buttes." 

By  this  time  they  had  come  opposite  the  Hash 
Knife  saloon,  which  occupied  a  prominent  position 
on  the  far  side  of  the  highway,  and  which,  they  could 
see,  had  caught  some  of  the  excitement  so  recently 
prevailing  at  Tony  Burke's. 

Foster  was  about  to  lead  the  way  across,  when 
they  found  that  they  were  being  pursued  by  a  faint 


214  RANGY    PETE 

clanking  noise,  coming  from  the  direction  of  Burke's. 
Rangy  turned  and  stared  into  the  night. 

"It's  the  Buzzard  boy  a  tryin'  to  fly  in  the  dark," 
he  pronounced. 

"How  you  know  they  call  him  the  Buzzard?" 
Jumbo  Irish  demanded  suspiciously.  "He  ain't  been 
tellin'  that  to  nobody  but  me." 

Rangy  continued  to  gaze  into  the  darkness  in  the 
direction  of  the  approaching  noise. 

"It  shore  is  the  Buzzard,"  he  declared  with  con- 
viction, "an*  I'd  a  thought  you'd  know,  Jumbo,  'at 
everybody  knows  they's  only  one  Flynn  person  with 
the  Dervishers.  An*  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  Flyrin 
person  yet  'at  sumbody  did'n  call  Buzzard?" 

Rangy  was  spared  the  necessity  of  f  urther  elabora- 
tion by  the  arrival  of  the  recent  captive.  Buzzard 
Flynn  approached  with  an  air  of  haste  and  confidence. 
The  clanking  of  the  manacles  stopped  as  he  came 
to  a  halt  before  Foster. 

"Will  one  of  you  gents  be  good  enough  to  use 
this  key  on  these  wrist  irons?"  he  addressed  Foster. 
"The  Sheriff  ain't  feelin*  noways  inclined  to  do  it, 
so  I  come  to  you." 

Flynn  extended  his  wrists  and  grasped  in  one 
hand  was  the  key  to  the  cuffs. 

"What  makes  you  think  we  won't  turn  you  back 
to  the  officials  at  once?  "  Ring'em  Foster  asked  coldly. 

Flynn  chuckled  confidently. 

"It  ain't  five  minutes  since  you  put  tip  a  scrap 


RANGY    PETE  215 

fer  one  member  of  the  Dervishers,  and  you  shore 
ain't  the  kind  of  gents  what'd  stand  back  and  let 
that  Snaky  Y  bunch  string  up  another." 

"  Who  says  we  are  not?  "  Foster  demanded.  "  That 
is  just  what  we  are  going  to  do  with  you,  Flynn. 
The  quicker  all  you  bandits  are  strung  up,  the  better 
it  will  be  for  the  county.  How'd  you  get  that  key?  " 

Buzzard  Flynn  became  much  subdued. 

"When  it  got  dark  I  dropped  my  wrists  and  they 
fell  on  Stipples'  head.  He  did'n  get  up,  so  I  lays 
down  beside  him  and  picked  the  key  outa  his  pocket. 
Then  I  crawls  around  behind  the  bar,  and  they 
forgets  all  about  me." 

"Well,  we  can  freshen  their  memories,"  Foster 
declared.  "I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  Snaky  Y 
bunch  could  make  a  pretty  fair  job  right  now  of  a 
roping-bee." 

"If  they  got  their  hands  on  you,  they'd  stretch 
you  out  so  long  you  wouldn't  never  throw  another 
shadow,"  Flynn  returned,  with  an  obvious  strain 
on  his  courage;  "but  you  ain't  the  kind  of  a  gent 
what'd  hand  me  over  to  the  fellers  what's  lookin' 
for  you." 

Foster  did  not  answer,  though  he  flipped  his 
fingers  impatiently. 

"  If  you'll  'skuse  me  fer  hornin'  into  the  argument, 
Ring'em,  I'll  say  Buzzard  has  served  a  right  useful 
purpose,  what  I'll  be  tellin'  you  about  some  other 
time,"  Rangy  put  in.  "Lernme  have  the  key." 


216  RANGY    PETE 

As  neither  Foster  nor  Irish  raised  further  objec- 
tions, Rangy  unlocked  the  manacles  and  threw 
them  aside. 

"Now  if  one  of  youse  gents  '11  slip  me  a  gun,  I'll 
be  fightin'  on  your  side." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Foster  demanded. 

"Nothin'  atoll,  'cept  the  Snaky  Y  bunch  is  organ- 
izing to  come  down  to  the  Hash  Knife  and  turn 
youse  all  into  dead  ones  fer  the  coyotes  to  gnaw. 
I  would'n  be  surprised  if  some  of  them  got  there 
afore  we  do." 

"Then  we  won't  lose  any  more  time,"  Foster 
declared,  as  he  led  the  way  down  a  lane  between 
two  buildings  which  fronted  out  upon  the  Hash 
Knife  saloon.  "The  Triangle  O  boys  aren't  lookin' 
for  trouble,  but  they  never  could  dodge." 


CHAPTER  Vin 

OPEN  friction  with  the  Snaky  Y,  it  became  evident, 
had  joined  the  list  of  inevitable  incidents  of  the  near 
future. 

Rangy  felt  that  their  attack  upon  Merrill,  Sonnes 
and  those  two  disheartened  punchers  from  the  Snaky 
Y  could  have  but  the  one  result.  Some  day  there 
must  be  a  vigorous  and  drastic  come-back,  for 
Merrill  was  not  the  type  to  brook  public  humilia- 
tion in  peace.  But  whether  that  retaliation  would 
be  face  to  the  front  or  by  devious  ways,  was  a  ques- 
tion which  he  could  not  hope  to  answer.  Yet  war 
there  must  be,  whether  in  the  open  or  along  the 
darkened  highways;  and  it  would  come  tonight,  or 
tomorrow,  or  some  day  in  the  future  when  Dan 
Merrill  chose  to  press  it. 

For  the  move  was  plainly  up  to  Merrill. 

Even  with  that  consciousness,  Rangy  could  fore- 
see, with  a  definite  trace  of  uneasiness,  just  how 
Merrill  could  turn  the  tables  against  them;  and,  if 
he  retained  any  measure  of  judgment,  how  he  could 
swing  the  whole  forces  of  the  law  into  his  balance. 

In  this  moment,  while  he  strode  across  the  dusty 
highway  to  the  Hash  Knife  saloon,  it  was  plain  to 

217 


218  RANGY    PETE 

Rangy  Pete  that  they  had  trifled  with  the  workings 
of  the  law,  and  that  Merrill,  if  he  were  wise,  would 
play  upon  it  to  the  full. 

"Somebody  coming  now!"  Ring'em  Foster  spoke 
calmly,  as  he  indicated  a  lone  rider  dashing  swiftly 
down  the  highway  from  the  Burke  saloon.  "  Buzzard 
Flynn  must  have  had  the  wrong  tip,  for  this  fellow 
is  alone." 

At  the  side  of  Foster  Rangy  walked  into  the  Hash 
Knife  and  paused  just  inside  the  doorway.  The 
lone  courier  was  Dexter  of  the  Snaky  Y. 

Just  outside  the  door,  clustered  about,  and  look- 
ing into  the  future  with  incurious  eyes,  were  tlu> 
riders  of  the  Triangle  O. 

Dexter  dashed  into  their  midst  with  an  aplomb 
and  daring  not  ill-pleasing  to  one  who  admired 
courage  and  who  recognized  the  danger  of  playing 
thus  upon  the  hair-trigger  temperaments  of  the  men 
he  faced. 

"In  the  name  of  Dan  Merrill,  I  demand  the  sur- 
render of  Ring'em  Foster,  Rangy  Pete  and  Jumbo 
Irish,"  he  proclaimed  in  a  loud  voice,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  firmly  upon  a  lanky  puncher  who  went  by  the 
name  of  Kyne  and  who  was  recognized  as  Foster's 
right-hand  man. 

Kyne  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently. 

"Never  heard  of  any  such  gents,"  he  replied  with 
voice  as  careless  as  his  manner.  "You  musta  got  a 
wrong  idea  about  something,  Mr.  Dexter." 


RANGY    PETE  219 

The  rider's  sun-tanned  features  flushed  a  darker 
shade,  for  Kyne's  answer,  polite  as  it  was,  carried 
its  own  message  of  insolence. 

"When  we  come  down  here  with  a  posse,  it'll 
shore  switch  your  memory  around  a  whole  lot," 
Dexter  flamed  angrily. 

"I'm  hearing  you  been  exercising  that  posse  a 
bit  of  late."  Still  there  was  politeness  in  Kyne's 
tones;  and  Dexter,  with  even  more  hostile  attitude, 
began  to  back  his  horse  away  from  the  vicinity  of 
the  Hash  Knife. 

That  act,  in  itself,  was  more  insolent  than  had 
been  Kyne's  smooth  manner,  for  back  of  it  was  the 
implication  that  he  dare  not  trust  the  breadth  of 
his  shoulders  to  the  triggers  of  the  Triangle  O. 

Dexter  was  still  acting  out  his  overt  insult  when 
Foster  stepped  suddenly  through  the  doorway  and 
pressed  his  way  through  the  punchers  to  the  center 
of  the  highway. 

"Hello,  Dexter,"  he  grinned.  "Don't  be  surprised 
to  see  me.  And  I  want  you  to  believe  that  Kynei.is 
right.  He  doesn't  know  me  in  this  affair  tonight. 
Neither  does  any  of  the  other  Triangle  O  punchers. 
Me  and  persons  called  Rangy  Pete  and  Jumbo  Irish 
are  little  boys  out  all  alone  at  night;  so  you  go  back 
and  tell  an  individual  by  the  name  of  Dan  Merrill 
that  there's  just  the  three  of  us  here  - 

Foster  paused  long  enough  to  study  Dexter  more 
seriously  through  a  moment  of  silence. 


220  .RANGY   PETE 

"And  you  can  tell  him  too,  Dexter,  that  the 
same  three  gents  will  walk  halfway  up  the  road  to 
Tony  Burke's  joint,  and  they'll  be  expecting  to  meet 
Merrill  and  some  two  other  gents  coming  down  the 
other  way  with  their  guns  unlimbered.  Got  it  right, 
Dexter?" 

Evidently  Dexter  believed'  he  understood  the 
challenge,  for  without  a  word  in  reply  he  swung  his 
mount  about  and  dashed  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  Snaky  Y  forces. 

Rangy  Pete  began  to  overhaul  the  mechanism  of 
his  six-gun.  The  challenge  foreshadowed  but  the 
one  thing  —  a  sextette  battle  in  the  open  roadway. 
Such  an  incident,  while  forcing  a  swifter  crisis  than 
he  had  pictured,  would  sweep  away  once  for  all  the 
menace  of  Dan  Merrill;  and  while  the  urge  was  strong 
upon  him  that  he  must  see  Miss  Dick  once  more, 
there  was  the  abrupt  conviction  that  this  would  be 
the  better  way  out. 

"Ready,  Rangy?"  Foster's  voice  was  as  calm  as 
though  he  were  but  superintending  the  most  trivial 
routine  of  a  day's  work.  "All  right.  Kyne,  take 
Harrigan,  and  one  of  you  slip  up  reach  side  of  the 
street  to  see  if  they  are  getting  any  rough  work  ready. 
Throw  the  regular  signal  if  they  start  anything 
crooked." 

A  roar  of  cheers  echoed  through  the  fever  #f 
Triple  Butte's  restless  dreams  as  Foster,  Rangy 
and  Irish  took  to  the  center  of  the  roadway,  spread 


RANGY    PETE  221 

out  a  few  yards  apart,  and  began  their  slow  tramp  in 
the  direction  of  the  Mansion  House. 

Curious  idlers  watched  them  go,  with  a  thrill  of 
excitement  in  their  veins. 

"Remember,"  Foster  cautioned,  "Merrill  is  my 
man,  Rangy  can  have  Sonnes,  and  Irish,  you  take 
the  rest." 

The  three  punchers  tramped  down  the  highway 
of  Triple  Butte,  watching  closely  for  the  least  sign 
of  movement  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Burke  saloon. 
As  they  drew  nearer  the  quarter  mark,  it  became 
apparent  that  there  was  a  cluster  of  men  in  front  of 
the  Mansion  House  and  that  there  were  others  in 
the  shadows  of  the  buildings  even  closer.  There 
were  still  others  across  the  roadway,  in  front  of  the 
Collander  store  and  corral,  and  there  was  one 
mounted  man,  probably  Dexter,  in  the  center  of  the 
street. 

Dexter,  it  appeared,  had  lost  interest,  for  his  back 
was  towards  the  advancing  three  and  he  appeared 
to  be  haranguing  a  group  of  punchers  farther  up  the 
street.  Foster,  Rangy  and  Jumbo  Irish  tramped  on. 

They  reached  the  quarter  mark  without  rousing 
any  special  display  of  curiosity  from  the  Snaky  Y. 

They  reached  one-third  of  the  distance  to  the 
Burke  saloon,  when  Dexter  suddenly  swung  about 
on  his  cayuse,  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction  of 
Burke's  and  then  spurred  rapidly  up  the  trail 
towards  the  Snaky  Y. 


222  RANGY    PETE 

"Shorely  he  ain't  gone  to  get  that  Chink  cook 
what  doses  up  the  grub  at  the  Snaky  Y,"  Rangy 
remarked.  "Shorely  we  ain't  gonna  have  to  fight 
the  Chink  army  too,  Ring'em.  I'm  hearin'  that 
Chink  ain't  afraid  of  nobody  what  he  can  sneak  up 
unto  in  the  dark  — 

"Somebody  coming,"  Foster  broke  into  Rangy 's 
cheer.  "Looks  like  Merrill." 

Even  as  Foster  spoke,  a  man  walked  quickly 
from  the  group  in  front  of  Burke's  and  started  in 
then*  direction. 

"You  allus  did  have  all  the  luck,"  Rangy  went 
on,  "fer  if  it's  Merrill,  he's  alone.  An'  I  shorely 
would  admire  to  see  sumbody  a  stirrin'  up  the  dust 
along  beside  him." 

They  reached  the  half-way  mark  and  stopped 
still  in  the  highway,  with  the  lone  figure  tramping 
down  upon  them,  his  identity  concealed  in  the 
murky  shadows  of  the  street. 

While  still  a  hundred  yards  distant,  his  right 
hand  shot  into  the  air  with  the  signal  of  peace. 

"The  luck's  broke!"  Rangy  exclaimed  disgustedly. 
"That  ain't  anybody  but  old  boy  Stipples  waving 
the  white  flag." 

"Guess  you're  right,"  Foster  conceded,  in  the  same 
tones.  "  This  way,  Sheriff,  and  show  a  little  more  life." 

Thus  admonished  and  knowing  himself  recognized, 
Stipples  dropped  his  upraised  arm  and  hurried  in 
the  direction  of  the  three. 


RANGY    PETE  223 

As  he  drew  nearer  it  became  apparent  that  Stipples 
had  a  bandage  about  his  head,  as  evidence  of  the 
sincerity  of  Buzzard  Flynn's  work. 

"You  gents  is  all  under  arrest,"  he  proclaimed 
at  once,  and  in  a  peevish  manner. 

"My  hearing  ain't  none  too  good  of  late,  Stipples," 
Ring'em  Foster  replied.  "Who  did  you  say  you're 
wanting  us  to  arrest  for  you?" 

"I'm  saying  you're  under  arrest.  You  —  you!" 
Stipples  declared,  as  he  tapped  Foster  upon  the 
chest. 

"Don't  go  letting  him  tap  you  thattaway, 
Ring'em,"  Rangy  broke  in  gravely.  "I  wouldn't 
be  a  bit  surprised  if  he's  got  the  idea  now  that  he's 
a  sawbones,  '  he's  trying  to  see  if  you've  got  the 
con.  There  ain't  any  use,  Stipples,  tapping  Ring'em 
on  the  chest,  for  he's  sound  all  the  way  through, 
right  down  to  the  finger  tips.  If  I  was  you,  Mr. 
Sheriff,  I  wouldn't  go  to  talking  any  more  about 
arresting  innocent  folks  what  go  out  walking  at 
night.  It's  most  apt  to  make  them  peevish.  Suppose 
now,  Stipples,  you  revise  yore  statement  to  Mr. 
Foster  and  say  that  you're  gonna  arrest  him  tomor- 
row. That'll  sound  a  hull  lot  less  peevish." 

Sheriff  Stipples  eyed  the  three  for  a  brief  space 
of  time;  then  he  allowed  his  glance  to  travel  on,  to 
the  area  in  front  of  the  Hash  Knife  where  the 
Triangle  O  punchers  were  in  massed  formation. 

"All  right,  Foster,  if  yer  hangin'  around  Triple 


224  RANGY    PETE 

Butte  tomorrow  I'll  put  you  under  arrest.  You 
can't  say  I  haven't  given  you  fair  warnin',"  Stipples 
conceded. 

"What's  that  he's  been  a  sayin',  Rangy?"  Foster 
asked.  "His  words  sound  all  mixed  up  to  me." 

"He  says,"  Rangy  raised  his  voice,  "  'at  he's 
gonna  take  the  night  practicin'  how  to  knock  on 
the  pearly  gate  an'  golden,  an'  then  tomorrer  he's 
comin'  round  to  see  you." 

"He  ain't  told  us  yet  what  it's  all  about,"  Foster 
returned. 

"I'm  gonna  arrest  sumbody  fer  lettin'  that 
Buzzard  Flynn  get  away,"  Stipples  shouted  through 
his  anger.  "He  whacked  me  over  the  head,  an'  he's 
gonna  find  out- 

Jumbo  Irish  stepped  forward  with  a  display  of 
interest  and  shook  a  fist  in  front  of  Stipples'  face. 

"You  ain't  gonna  tell  me  'at  you've  gone  an* 
let  that  Flynn  get  away?"  he  demanded,  with 
much  evidence  of  concern.  "You  ain't  gonna  tell 
me  'at,  be  you,  Mr.  Sheriff,  me  what  spent  a  hull 
day  and  night  a  traipsin'  around  huntin'  fer  him  - 

"He  got  away,"  Stipples  admitted. 

"An*  who  let  him  get  away?  "  Irish  demanded. 
"Ain't  they  no  sheriff  nor  nothin*  in  this  town? 
Who's  lookin'  after  him  when  he  got  away?  They's 
a  lot  of  things,  Stipples,  I  wanta  know." 

"You  mean  to  say  you  fellows  didn't  help  Flynn 
escape  when  you  made  that  row  over  the  woman?" 


RANGY    PETE  225 

Stipples  asked  in  much  milder  tone,  and  apparently 
quite  ready  to  see  the  avenue  to  peace. 

The  injured  innocence  on  the  faces  of  the  three 
men  seemed  sufficient  answer. 

"You  been  letting  him  go  yoreself?"  Irish  asked 
suspiciously.  "  You  trying  to  get  out  of  that  twenty- 
five  dollar  reward  what's  promised  to  anybody  who 
catches  highwaymen?" 

Stipples'  features  began  to  writhe  in  an  unpleasant 
way. 

"Honest  to  goodness,  no!"  he  exclaimed.  "That 
man  got  away  during  the  row —  " 

"Then  you  pay  me  right  now,"  Irish  insisted, 
"because  mabbe,  after  you  been  playing  with 
Ring'em  tomorrow  you  won't  be  able  to  remember 
anything  at  all.  Rangy,  ain't  he  got  to  pay  me 
that  reward  now?" 

For  a  moment  Rangy  Pete  considered. 

"Sounds  right,  Jumbo,"  he  concluded.  "They 
ain't  no  man  should  figure  on  what  Stipples  is 
talking  about  without  squaring  his  debts  before  he 
goes.  It's  your  move,  Mr.  Sheriff." 

Quite  plainly,  Stipples  was  caught  between  the 
conflict  of  emotions;  but  in  the  end  discretion 
seemed  to  prevail. 

"This  is  a  high-handed  piece  of  work,"  he  pro- 
tested. "Perhaps  I'll  have  to  pay.  But  I  don't 
know  which  is  the  worst,  you  or  the  road  agents." 

"Them  is  crool  words,"  Rangy  complained,  with 


226  RANGY    PETE 

the  old  slur  in  his  tones,  as  Stipples  drew  a  package 
of  bills  from  his  pocket,  "but  I  ain't  got  no  hard 
feelin's  agin  you  fer  hard  words,  Mr.  Sheriff.  You've 
made  me  so  meek  an'  mild  with  crool  words  'at  I'm 
a  gonna  let  you  pay  Jumbo  a  li'l  matter  of  fifty 
yellow  boys  what  I  owes  him  on  a  bet.  You  know 
all  about  that  - 

While  he  spoke,  Rangy  Pete  quietly  lifted  the 
bills  from  Stipples'  fingers  and  began  to  count  out 
the  required  amount. 

"Of  all  the  highwaymen  I  ever  met-  "  Stipples 
began,  but  Rangy  again  interrupted. 

"You  somehow  don't  look  at  things  with  the 
right  eye  tonight.  I'm  guessin'  mabbe  it's  'at  crack 
on  the  head  what  the  Buzzard  give  you.  I'm  jo  I 
a  lettin'  you  lend  me  these  yellow  boys  what  I'm 
givin'  to  Jumbo  on  the  bet,  an'  you  got  two  right 
nice  witnesses  what'll  allus  say  I  borrowed  an'  can't 
never  back  out  from  payin'  you.  Ain't  that  right, 
boys?" 

Irish  and  Foster  assured  him  that  it  was. 

"  'Sides,"  Rangy  continued,  "youse  forgettin', 
Mr.  Stipples,  'at  the  long  journey  what  yer  a  thinkin' 
about  takin'  tomorrer  ain't  the  kind  what  nobody 
ever  wants  no  yellow  boys  on.  Thinkin'  about  yore 
journey  has  made  me  kinda  full  of  sentiments, 
Mr.  Sheriff.  It's  gettin  'me  that  soft-hearted  I'm 
a  gonna  give  you  back  five  of  Jumbo's  yellow  boys. 
That's  all  right,  Jumbo,  they  come  outa  the  reward, 


RANGY    PETE  2*7 

an'  you  otta  know  sumbody's  gotta  pay  Mr.  Stipples 
fer  them  handcuffs  what  the  Buzzard  stole  on 
him.  Shore,  Jumbo,  you  mayn't  like  it  now,  but 
tomorrer,  when  Mr.  Stipples  has  started  on  his  long 
journey,  you'll  be  kinda  wipin'  yore  eyes  an'  pattin' 
yourself  all  over  to  think  you  was  so  nice  to  him 
when  he  was  with  us." 

"You're  a  high-handed  scoundrel!"  Stipples  pro- 
claimed, with  a  concomitance  of  oaths. 

"We  shouldn't  be  wasting  time  on  nice  words," 
Rangy  broke  in.  "What  we  want  to  know  is  this  — 
is  little  Danny  Merrill  and  Billy  Sonnes  coming 
out  to  play  with  us?" 

"No,  'cause  you  got  them  buffaloed  Stipples 
declared  angrily;  then  hastily  he  revised  his  view- 
point. "I  mean,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  I  wouldn't 
let  them  come.  If  it  was  just  a  matter  between  you 
people,  two  and  two,  it  wouldn't  matter  much;  but 
if  Merrill  and  Sonnes  had  come  down  here  to  meet 
you  tonight  we  would  have  had  the  whole  of  Triple 
Butte  and  three  gangs  of  punchers  mixed  up  in  a 
war  before  the  week  was  out.  I  couldn't  let  that 
go  on.  You  know  that,  Rangy?" 

!  'Course  you  couldn't.  We  all  know  that, 
Stipples,  for  it  might  have  been  most  nigh  as 
onhealthy  as  trying  to  ride  Ring'em  outa  town 
tomorrow.  If  I  was  Dan  Merrill,  I  wouldn't  noways 
object  to  hiring  you  to  ride  along  beside  me  to 
point  out  them  onhealthy  things." 


228  RANGY   PETE 

Stipples  flared  in  reply. 

"Don't  get  the  idea  that  Merrill  is  backing 
down,"  he  protested.  "He  says  the  first  time  you 
two  meet  up,  you're  gonna  get  plugged  good  and 
hard.  The  same  goes  for  Foster  and  Irish." 

"There  ain't  anything  there  to  get  sorrowful 
about,"  Rangy  assured.  "When  Dan's  flocking 
about  with  the  herd,  he's  gonna  get  us  when  he's 
alone;  and  when  he's  alone  he's  gonna  get  us  when 
he's  flocking  with  the  herd." 

"What  he  means  is  that  when  Merrill  is  riding 
herd,  and  you  are  alone,  he'll  get  you  then,"  Foster 
suggested. 

Rangy  nodded  reflectively. 

"Then  inabbe  we'd  better  go  up  to  Burke's  and  get 
him  now,"  he  decided.  "  What  do  you  say,  Ring'em?  " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  get  out  of  here,"  Stipples 
pleaded.  "If  you  go  up  there,  half  the  town'll  be 
shot  up  before  morning.  Now  go  away,  like  good 
fellows,  and  slope  it  out  of  town." 

At  this  point  Rangy  Pete  developed  symptoms 
of  peevishness. 

"I  ain't  going  anywhere  unless  you  say  I  ain't 
a  highwayman,"  he  affirmed  with  outward  obstinacy. 
"It's  cruel  words  you  been  using,  Mr.  Sheriff;  and 
if  we  got  the  Snaky  Y  buffaloed,  Ring'em,  there 
ain't  no  time  like  the  present  to  go  up  and  finish 
the  job.  Suppose  you  whissel  to  Kyne  and  get  a 
hah*  dozen  of  your  best  men  - 


RANGY    PETE  229 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  do  that!"  Stipples  pro- 
tested. "You  know  I  didn't  mean  a  word  of  what 
I  said  about  you.  I  was  sore  at  Merrill,  that's  all. 
You're  perfectly  welcome  to  that  money  you  bor- 
rowed, and  you  know  it.  Now  be  good  fellows  and 
slip  outa  town  during  the  night.  And  if  they's 
anything  else  yer  needin'  - 

"They  shore  is,"  Rangy  gave  an  abrupt  display 
of  docility.  "Let's  go  back  to  the  Hash  Knife, 
fellers,  fer  they  ain't  no  use  standin'  here  while 
them  folks'  eyes  is  gettin'  better." 

The  four  immediately  turned  towards  the  Hash 
Knife  saloon,  and  Stipples'  relief  was  so  great  that 
he  could  not  completely  conceal  it  in  his  manner. 

"It's  right  nice  of  you,  Sheriff,  to  go  makin'  an 
offer  thattaway,"  Rangy  resumed  the  conversation. 
"I'll  ride  outa  town  right  away,  but  I  can't  go 
'thout  I  got  some  things  along.  They's  my  li'l  yeller 
cayuse  up  behind  Ike  Collander's  corral.  That 
weren't  no  place  atoll  fer  me  to  leave  cayuse,  'cause 
I  don't  s'pose  Dan's  got  more'n  three  punchers 
waitin'  to  bushwhack  me  when  I  go  after  yellow 
boy.  Dan's  shootin'  eye  is  closed,  but  you  don't 
hafta  see  much  to  go  bushwhackin'  a  feller  — 

"I'll  go  and  get  your  horse,"  Stipples  hastened 
to  offer. 

"That's  right  nice  of  you,  Sheriff,  to  go  urgin' 
me  to  stay  thattaway.  But  a  person  an'  a  cayuse 
can't  live  nohow  on  nothin'  to  eat  —  " 


230  RANGY    PETE 

"I'll  make  up  a  parcel  of  stuff  in  Collander's  and 
bring  it  down  here  to  you,"  Stipples  was  still  willing 
to  speed  the  departing  Pete. 

"You  won't  go  tellin'  Ike  nothin  about  it?" 
Rangy  showed  signs  of  anxiety,  "fer  Ike's  got  a  big 
job  he's  been  wantin'  me  to  do.  He  would'n  like 
it  nohow  if  he  thought  I's  goin'  away,  an'  he  most 
mabbe  would'n  let  you  have  the  stuff,  an*  then  I 
could'n  go  - 

"I'll  slip  in  the  back  way  and  help  myself," 
Stipples  assured.  "What  do  you  need?  If  you're 
takin'  a  long  trip,  you  better  have  a  lot  of  stuff." 

"Yer  so  nice,  yer  gonna  have  me  bustin'  out  a 
weepin*  on  yore  shoulder,"  Rangy  replied,  "but 
don't  make  it  so  big  that  it'll  be  oncomfortable  to 
carry.  You  might  bring  a  bit  of  bacon,  an'  coffee, 
an'  sugar,  an'  flour,  an'  you  know,  the  rest  of  the 
stuff  —  an',  I  was  most  nigh  forgettin'  yeller  boy. 
You  bring  a  box  of  'vaporated  apples  fer  me  to  feed 
cayuse.  They's  one  box  what  Ike  won't  noways 
mind  losin'  atoll.  It's  got  some  red  paint  on  it,  an' 
they's  some  paint  run  into  the  apples.  They'll  do 
yeller  boy  fine.  It's  funny,  Sheriff,  how  yeller  cayuse 
does  like  'em  'vaporated  apples  —  and  don't  you 
go  to  forgettin'  'em." 

The  last  of  Rangy 's  instructions  was  delivered 
in  an  elevated  voice,  due  to  the  fact  that  Sheriff 
Stipples  was  determined  to  reduce  to  the  minimum 
the  possibility  of  Rangy  Pete  arriving  at  a  contrary 


RANGY    PETE  231 

decision.  At  the  Hash  Knife,  Stipples  slipped  into 
the  darkened  area  by  the  corral  and  was  immediately 
lost  to  sight. 

"  There  goes  one  clawin'  wildcat,"  Rangy  reflected. 
"Don't  you  ever  go  to  gettin'  him  sore  at  you, 
Ring'em  - 

The  balance  of  Rangy's  advice  was  drowned  out 
in  the  welcome  which  greeted  them  from  the  Hash 
Knife  saloon. 

After  explanations  had  been  made  and  the  Snaky  Y 
had  failed  to  rise  in  the  barometer  o£  the  Triangle  O's 
esteem,  there  was  free  discussion  as  to  what  should 
be  the  next  step.  Ring'em  Foster  ruled  for  peace. 

"You  looking  for  a  job?"  Foster  turned  to  Rangy 
Pete.  "It  seems  we're  needin'  an  extra  man  down 
at  the  Triangle." 

The  suggestion  was  greeted  with  a  round  of  cheers 
from  the  Triangle  O  boys,  but  Jumbo  Irish  took  up 
the  reply  while  Rangy  was  still  grinning  at  the  group 
of  punchers.  1 

"Mabbe  so,"  Jumbo  declared,  "but  the  Triangle  O 
ain't  needin'  him  noways  as  much  as  the  Double  K. 
Ole  Calvin  Bracken  sent  me  out  two  days  ago  to 
bring  Rangy  in,  an'  if  he  herds  up  anywhere,  it's 
gonna  be  at  the  Double  K." 

"  I'm  thinkin'  Jumbo  ain't  far  out  in  his  reckonin'," 
Rangy  assured.  "I  would'n  be  s'prised  if  me  an* 
Calvin  talked  things  over  right  peaceable." 

"And  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  Stipples  brought 


232  RANGY    PETE 

you  enough  grub  to  get  you  farther  than  the  Double 
K,"  Foster  laughed.  "He  seemed  keen  to  enjoy 
your  absence." 

"Yeah,  funny  boy  that,"  Rangy  agreed.  "I  would'n 
wonder  if  he  had  the  idea  'at  I  hadda  keep  on 
movin'  till  I  eat  up  all  the  grub  he  brings  me." 

When  Sheriff  Stipples  appeared  a  few  minutes 
later,  it  became  evident  that  Ring'em  Foster  was 
right.  Judging  from  the  way  in  which  Rangy's 
saddle-bags  were  bulging,  and  from  the  size  of  the 
package  strapped  across  the  front  of  the  saddle, 
Stipples  was  not  taking  any  chances  that  Rangy  Pete 
would  soon  run  out  of  fodder  and  be  forced  back  to 
Triple  Butte. 

Rangy  looked  the  supplies  over  critically. 

"You  shore  got  a  kind  an'  lovin'  heart,"  Rangy 
pronounced  when  his  inspection  was  finished.  "  S'far 
as  I  can  see,  you  ain't  left  me  a  single  reason  fer 
hangin'  around,  an'  that's  real  friendly  like.  I  guess 
I'd  better  be  danglin'  along." 

Rangy  Pete  mounted,  gathered  up  the  reins,  and 
from  his  elevated  position  addressed  the  Sheriff. 

"You  otta  know,  Stipples,  'at  Ike  Collander's  a 
queer  kind  of  a  boy.  He's  got  them  strange  ideas 
what's  gonna  make  him  say  'at  these  goods  has  been 
stole.  An'  if  it  should  ever  get  talked  about,  they's 
two-three  of  us  can  say  who  done  the  stealin'.  They's 
some  people  foolish  enough  to  get  peevish  when 
their  Sheriff  sets  out  to  steal,  but  I  ain't  that  kind. 


RANGY    PETE  233 

I  ain't  noways  particular,  an'  neither  is  Jumbo  nor 
Ring'em.  All  we  asks  is  that  people  lets  us  alone. 
You  gonna  try  to  run  Ring'em  outa  town  tomorrer, 
Mr.  Stipples?" 

"Don't  worry  him  over  a  small  matter,"  Foster 
interposed.  "Before  morning  comes  there  won't  be 
a  single  Triangle  O  boy  within  sight  of  Triple  Butte." 

"Thank  Heaven  for  that,"  Stipples  returned 
devoutly. 

"That  shore  is  a  right  good  tip  to  you,  Stipples," 
Ranger  suggested.  "If  I's  you,  I'd  run  right  back  to 
Tony  Burke's  now  an'  pass  the  word  around  that 
if  they's  any  Triangle  O  punchers  in  town  tomorrer 
yer  gonna  make  crow  meat  out  of  'em.  You  jest 
chirp  as  loud  as  you  like.  An'  if  you  wanta  do  the 
thing  right,  you'll  get  a  posse  all  ready  tonight,  an' 
you'll  be  plumb  set  on  bein'  the  one  to  lead  it  in  the 
mornin'." 

"I'll  do  it,"  Stipples  declared,  with  an  attempt 
to  accept  the  suggestion  humorously.  Then  he 
turned  and  made  his  way  back  towards  the  Mansion 
House. 

"He  sure  will  do  it,"  Foster  reflected,  "and 
wouldn't  it  be  one  nice  little  joke  if  the  Triangle  O 
boys  stayed  around  to  watch  the  Sheriff  throw 
them  out?" 

"Don't  you  go  to  doin'  nothin'  like  that,"  Rangy 
protested,  "fer  if  you  do,  I  gotta  stay  too,  an'  I  can't 
stay," 


234  RANGY    PETE 

"Now  that  you  have  made  your  position  so  clear, 
we  will  vanish  before  morning,"  Foster  agreed.  "  And 
remember,  if  you  should  ever  want  that  job,  the 
Triangle  O  is  always  one  man  short." 

"But  not  so  short  as  the  Double  K,"  Rangy  threw 
back,  as  he  urged  his  cayuse  into  activity.  "An' 
don't  you  forget  to  ride  along  and  blind  my  trail." 

A  moment  later  Rangy  Pete  was  riding  briskly 
down  the  trail  which  led  away  from  Triple  Butte 
in  the  direction  of  the  Double  K,  and  he  was  quite 
indifferent  to  the  fact  that  his  departure  had  roused 
curiosity  in  the  brains  of  Jumbo  Irish  and  Ring'em 
Foster. 

He  was  likewise  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  Dan 
Merrill,  having  retreated  with  Sonnes  to  an  inner 
room  of  the  Burke  establishment,  was  lashing  his 
brain  and  that  of  his  companion  to  find  the  surest 
and  swiftest  punishment  for  the  offenders  of  the 
night. 

For  a  tune  through  that  scene  Sonnes  leered 
savagely  under  the  prodding  of  Dan  Merrill,  listening 
to  the  scorn  of  his  employer's  outburst.  Then  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  went  to  stand  over  Merrill. 

"We  got  to  get  them  split  up,"  he  declared,  in 
tones  which  matched  his  leering.  "We  split  'em  up, 
Rough  House,  and  we  pick  'em  off  one  at  a  time  — 

"Yeah!"  Merrill  sneered,  "it's  the  only  way  you 
can  pick  anything  off.  How're  you  going  to  do  it?" 

Sonnes'  lips  parted  still  more  savagely. 


RANGY    PETE  235 

"Leave  it  to  me,  Rough  House,"  he  gloated.  "As 
long  as  there's  an  Ike  Collander  in  town,  I'm  thinking 
there's  screws  we  can  put  on  to  get  Rangy  back. 
Then  when  he  walks  into  the  trap  - 

"Sure  thing,"  Merrill  showed  an  abrupt  interest. 
"You  ain't  so  bad  after  all,  Bill.  But  don't  go 
wasting  any  time.  We'll  set  one  of  the  punchers 
to  bushwhack  that  Irish  person,  and  I'd  sort  of  like 
to  settle  with  Foster  myself  - 

"You  mean  by  skipping  out  and  not  paying  any 
of  your  debts?"  Sonnes  leered. 

Merrill's  reply  was  an  attempt  at  a  grin  which 
only  succeeded  in  betraying  its  viciousness. 


CHAPTER   IX 

BEYOND  all  human  doubt,  the  die  now  had  been 
plainly  cast. 

It  was  to  be  war  from  this  moment  with  the 
Snaky  Y  —  if  he  could  dignify  his  lonely  stand  by 
such  an  impressive  term. 

Rangy  Pete  recognized  that,  as  he  rode  through 
the  mellowness  of  the  night,  with  its  silence  and  its 
cleanness  all  about  him.  He  knew  it  to  be  an  indis- 
putable fact  when  he  looked  across  the  ranges  and 
saw,  far  away,  peering  through  the  rim  of  haze  lining 
the  eastern  horizon,  the  oval  moon  stealing  out  to 
inspect  the  vastness  of  the  world. 

In  an  hour  or  two,  the  glow  of  the  moon  would 
be  like  a  vast  silvery  blanket  spread  over  the  leagues 
of  plain,  a  whitened  sheen  throwing  out  in  relief 
the  shadows  of  all  living  things  and  picking  him 
out  for  the  eyes  of  his  enemies. 

War,  undoubted  war,  if  he  could  regard  as  war 
this  dignified  retreat  of  his  before  the  inevitable 
attack  of  the  Snaky  Y.  But  somehow  or  other  the 
uncertainty  of  his  own  future  seemed  an  insignificant 
thing  compared  with  the  fact  that  out  here  in  the 
chaparral  was  Miss  Dick,  who  sooner  or  later  must 
assuredly  be  rounded  up  by  the  angered  troops  of 

236 


RANGY    PETE  237 

Dan  Merrill,  unless  in  some  way  or  other  he  could 
overcome  her  strange  whims  and  send  her  back  to 
those  forest  retreats  beyond  the  butte  lands. 

That  was  the  immediate  work  which  lay  before 
him. 

Except  for  that,  he  might,  at  this  instant,  be 
riding  or  camping  with  the  Triangle  O,  secure  among 
their  numbers;  but  that  thought  was  only  a  flitting 
thing  which  came  and  vanished  almost  before  it 
was  born,  and  which  had  no  place  whatever  among 
the  strange  visions  which  he  was  picturing  among 
the  thinning  shadows  of  the  moonlight. 

That  moonlight  was  such  a  fascinating  thing,  and 
yet  so  treacherous. 

Shortly,  he  knew,  it  would  reach  out  and  lay  the 
grip  of  its  tiny  fingers  upon  the  ranges  until  it  drew 
before  the  eye  a  picture  which  touched  the  heart; 
until  it  played  with  its  mellowness  and  its  sadness 
upon  the  strings  of  man's  emotions  and  reached 
down  into  the  dark,  still  corners  which  are  the 
unknown  pages  of  life. 

Rangy  Pete  drew  his  cayuse  to  a  halt  and  sat 
quite  still,  looking  at  the  rising  arc  of  the  oval  moon. 
He  was  a  plainsman,  every  last  inch  of  him  which 
was  not  a  mountaineer;  and  because  of  that  he  had 
ridden  out  many  a  mystic  night  under  just  such  a 
glimmering  moon  as  this  would  shortly  be,  nights 
which  had  spoken  to  him  with  their  strange  and 
inexplicable  sentiments,  nights  which  tugged  at  the 


23S  RANGY    PETE 

heart  and  whispered  queer,  old,  forgotten  messages 
about  the  sweet  of  life  which  must  lie  somewhere 
beyond  the  surface. 

There  was  a  loneliness  in  that  vista  of  world 
stretching  off  there  before  the  eye;  and  as  he  recog- 
nized its  message  Rangy  Pete  was  wondering.  Off 
there  in  the  chaparral  was  a  girl.  Would  she,  like 
himself,  find  that  in  the  mysterious  moonlight  of 
the  plains  there  is  a  spirit  which  draws  human  beings 
closer  together? 

A  shadow  riding  off  there  before  his  eyes,  across 
the  open  stretch  of  moon-flecked  range! 

Already  the  Snaky  Y  were  on  the  hunt.  Three 
horsemen  now,  riding  upon  some  quest  of  which  he 
and  Miss  Dick  were  the  backbone! 

Presently  they  plunged  across  the  open  space  into 
the  shadows,  and  as  Rangy  shook  the  cay  use's  reins 
briskly  and  rode  into  the  night  through  another 
circling  of  shadows,  he  wondered  just  how  many 
like  clusters  of  horsemen  there  would  be  scattered 
about,  infesting  the  trails  which  Miss  Dick  must 
ride  before  she  once  more  found  the  secluded  safety 
of  those  forested  hills  beyond  the  Pass. 

Slowly  he  picked  his  way  through  the  shadows, 
with  his  every  faculty  alert. 

Rangy  knew  well  enough  the  tactics  of  the  plains- 
men to  know  at  the  same  time  the  danger  which  lay 
before  him.  As  he  viewed  it  now,  the  menace  was 
more  immediate  than  remote. 


RANGY    PETE  239 

Two  more  horsemen  flitting  out  of  the  shadows 
of  the  chaparral,  across  the  open  range  land,  and 
into  the  south!  He  was  close  enough  this  time  to 
hear  the  rattle  of  their  spurs,  to  see  the  poise  of  their 
heads,  and  to  know  from  the  set  of  the  bodies  that 
they  were  bound  upon  some  definite  mission  which 
might  take  hours  to  fulfill. 

It  was  all  plain  to  him  now.  Stipples,  seemingly 
docile,  had  been  sufficiently  dangerous  to  tell  of  that 
recent  outfitting  upon  the  highway  of  Triple  Butte; 
and  Merrill's  brain,  befuddled  though  it  was  with 
liquor,  had  been  quick  enough  to  see  that  Rangy 
Pete  would  be  riding  alone,  unsheltered  by  the  wing 
of  the  Triangle  O. 

So  Merrill  was  throwing  swift  groups  of  riders 
into  the  south,  to  block  the  trails  and  the  openings 
to  the  butte  lands.    Already  the  search  was  on  — 
for  him  —  yes,  and  for  Miss  Dick  as  well! 

Rangy  held  the  cayuse  in  the  thicker  shadows 
until  that  pair  of  riders  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  shifting 
moonlight.  Then  he  laughed  softly  to  himself. 

The  danger  was  more  immediate  than  remote. 
Merrill,  swift  of  brain  even  through  the  fumes  of 
his  liquor,  evidently  was  a  one-idea  man.  He  had 
seemed  to  think  that  when  Rangy  rode  into  the 
south  he  meant  to  keep  on  riding  that  way.  He 
knew  nothing  whatever  about  this  trysting  place 
with  Miss  Dick,  to  the  east  of  Triple  Butte,  in  which 
direction  Rangy  was  now  riding. 


240  RANGY   PETE 

Assuredly  Dan  Merrill  was  a  one-idea  man,  or  he 
would  have  blocked  the  trails  to  the  north  as  well 
as  those  to  the  south,  the  trails  to  the  Snaky  Y  as 
well  as  those  to  the  Double  K  and  the  Triangle  O. 
Yet  Merrill's  imagination  probably  did  not  conceive 
of  the  fugitives  having  the  daring  to  ride  in  the 
direction  of  his  own  brief  kingdom. 

So  Rangy  Pete,  circling  far  to  the  east,  rode  more 
swiftly  and  confidently.  A  third  party  of  riders  he 
sighted,  but  they  were  to  the  south  and  seemingly 
far  away. 

This  time  he  rode  forward  with  a  laugh  upon  his 
lips.  Let  them  search  to  the  south  and  the  west, 
while  he  rode  to  the  north  and  east.  A  chance  rider 
might  see  him  now,  but  beyond  that  the  danger  had 
suddenly  switched  from  the  immediate  to  the  remote. 
Tomorrow  it  might  be  different,  if  any  rider  proved 
keen  enough  to  follow  his  trail;  but  for  tonight  there 
lay  before  him  only  the  thrill  of  this  new  meeting 
with  Miss  Dick.  And  it  was  a  thrill,  even  in  its 
promise. 

He  was  acutely  conscious  of  that  promise  as  he 
watched  the  growing  strength  of  the  moonbeams. 
There  was  a  certain  amount  of  similarity  between 
Miss  Dick  and  the  moonlight,  a  likeness  in  their 
elusiveness;  there  was  the  same  fascination  of  the 
unknown.  There  was  the  same  tinge  in  the  girl's 
hair  that  he  had  sometimes  caught  in  the  glitter  of 
the  moon  upon  the  sands  of  the  range  hills  at  night; 


RANGY    PETE  241 

there  was  the  same  whispering  lure  which  forever 
beckons  man  into  new  deeds,  whether  of  daring,  or 
folly,  or  wisdom. 

From  that  moment,  secure  in  the  precipitate 
actions  of  the  Snaky  Y,  Rangy  rode  directly  to  the 
chaparral  where  Miss  Dick  must  be  waiting  for 
him,  if  that  last  message  thrown  out  by  the  side  of 
the  Burke  saloon  had  been  meant  for  him.  Up  to 
this  instant  the  point  had  barely  touched  Rangy's 
brain  at  all.  He  had  taken  it  instantly  for  granted 
that  Miss  Dick,  while  speaking  evasively,  had  been 
giving  to  him  a  definite  message  that  she  would 
wait  for  him  here  in  the  chaparral;  yet  now,  when 
he  thought  of  the  time  which  had  been  consumed 
and  of  the  fluctuating  moods  of  the  girl,  Rangy  felt 
a  fever  of  anxiety  sweeping  over  him.  Suppose  she 
had  ridden  on;  what  then?  Shortly  the  anxiety 
slipped  from  him;  for  the  future  seemed  such  a  clear 
thing,  distinctly  limned  against  the  incidents  of  the 
past.  There  would  be  nothing  left  for  him  but  to 
ride  upon  her  trail,  to  follow  her  through  the  days 
and  the  nights,  even  into  the  forested  hills  and 
valleys  beyond  the  butte  lands.  The  thought  of 
that  was  a  pleasing  thing.  In  some  strange  manner 
it  seemed  to  draw  him  even  closer  to  the  girl  of  his 
imagination.  She  was  an  outcast,  made  such  by 
some  strange  whim  of  fate;  while  he,  in  the  past 
few  hours,  had  likewise  become  an  outcast,  sought 
by  a  score  or  more  of  punchers,  perhaps  even  by  the 


242  RANGY    PETE 

citizens  of  Triple  Butte,  because  he  had  given  his 
blind  service  to  her  cause.  So  whether  or  not  Miss 
Dick  was  awaiting  him  here  in  the  chaparral,  they 
had  been  drawn  closer  together  by  chance,  and  it 
would  be  quite  the  fitting  thing  that  he  should 
follow  her  into  the  land  of  the  Dervishers. 

That  thought,  pleasing  as  it  was,  was  still  upon 
him,  when  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  chaparral  and 
began  to  peer  into  the  depths  of  its  shadows. 

"I  see  you  have  the  box  of  evaporated  apples," 
a  calm  voice  greeted  him  evenly,  so  naturally  that 
he  wondered  why  he  had  ever  doubted.  "I  don't 
know  how  you  ever  did  it,  Mr.  Rangy  Pete,  but  I'll 
say  it  was  good  work." 

"Nothing  at  all,  Miss;  nothing  at  all,"  he  mumbled 
hastily. 

"And  I  am  going  to  agree  with  you  that  Triple 
Butte,  when  it  wakes  up,  isn't  a  healthy  place  to 
be  in,"  the  girl  went  on,  as  though  unconscious  of 
his  interruption.  "I  suppose  they  have  put  a  price 
on  my  head  by  this  time?" 

"They  couldn't  put  no  price  on  that,  Miss," 
Rangy  bantered. 

For  a  time  the  girl  remained  silent,  but  it  was 
plain  that  her  attitude  had  become  severe. 

"Suppose  you  lift  me  down  that  box  of  apples," 
she  digressed  in  the  end.  "After  that,  the  world  is 
wide.  You  can  choose  which  way  you  go." 

Rangy  Pete  grinned  through  the  moonlight. 


RANGY    PETE  243 

"You're  a  queer  one,  ain't  you,  Miss?"  he  asked, 
as  he  placed  both  hands  firmly  upon  the  box  resting 
upon  the  saddle-horns.  "The  world  shore  is  wide. 
It's  too  wide  for  a  little  person  like  you,  and  that's 
the  reason  I  don't  hanker  to  be  riding  away  with- 
out knowing  something  about  you.  The  world  shore 
is  wide,  Miss;  so  wide  that  if  you  rode  one  way  and 
I  rode  the  other  and  kept  on  picking  our  way  through 
the  moonlight  till  morning,  there  ain't  any  guarantee 
that  we'd  ever  meet  up  again." 

"  I  imagine  there  must  be  some  meaning  to  that  if 
I  only  had  the  time  to  figure  it  out,"  Miss  Dick 
reflected,  "but  I  have  already  seen  one  or  two  posses 
riding  by." 

"I  mean  I  wouldn't  object  to  knowing  how  to  find 
your  front  doorbell  when  there's  something  special 
to  say  to  you."  Rangy  became  more  courageous. 

"Say  it  now,"  Miss  Dick  suggested. 

"I  ain't  thought  of  it  yet,"  Rangy  grinned,  "and 
I  won't  be  able  to  think  of  it  till  after  you're  gone." 

"I  see.  Strained  politeness.  You  are  trying  to 
flay  that  you  want  to  know  where  you  could  find  me. 
Why  didn't  you  say  it  in  the  first  place?  Here,  take 
this." 

With  that,  Miss  Dick  extended  to  Rangy  Pete  a 
whitish  something  which  looked  like  a  folded  paper. 
Rangy  took  it  and  found  that  it  was  a  small  envelope, 
sealed.  He  was  about  to  open  it  when  Miss  Dick 
held  up  a  restraining  hand. 


244  RANGY   PETE 

"Now,  the  evaporated  apples,"  she  spoke  crisply. 
"I  must  be  miles  away  from  here  before  daylight." 

The  casual  manner  in  which  she  concluded  that 
their  ways  were  to  part  at  this  point  left  Rangy 
slightly  nonplussed.  He  remained  silent  while  she 
went  through  certain  routine  and  while  she  mounted 
briskly. 

At  length  she  urged  her  cayuse  a  few  steps  forward, 
out  into  the  fuller  glitter  of  the  moonlight.  She  swept 
off  her  sombrero  and  she  turned  her  head  so  that 
the  moon  rays  fell  clean  and  unbroken  upon  her 
bared  face.  In  that  moment  Rangy  could  see  that 
the  oval  of  the  girl's  chin  and  cheeks  reached  up  to 
embrace  the  rest  of  her  features;  he  could  see  that 
the  full  face  was  oval  and  young  and  wistful,  that 
the  eyes  were  wide  and  of  a  shaded  blue  which  he 
could  not  read  through  the  uncertain  light,  and  that, 
unless  the  softening  touch  of  the  moon  had  painted 
a  false  picture  before  his  eyes,  she  was  youthful  and 
her  body  was  filled  with  the  wine  of  life. 

But  though  the  girl  was  youthful,  it  was  this 
sudden  mood  of  wistfulness  which  touched  Rangy 
Pete.  He  did  not  stop  to  ask  himself  if  this  mood 
were  real  or  assumed.  He  knew  only  that  he  felt  a 
sudden  desire  to  do  or  say  something  which  would 
bring  a  smile  to  her  lips;  but  he  found  himself  sur- 
prisingly unequal  to  the  task. 

Abruptly  she  turned  to  face  him. 

"Good-bye,    Rangy   Pete."     She   spoke    softly, 


RANGY   PETE  245 

almost  with  lingering  notes  in  her  voice.    "Forget 
that  our  paths  have  crossed." 

With  that  she  rode  across  a  narrow  space  of 
moonlight,  then*  suddenly  swept  into  the  shadows 
of  the  north. 

Rangy  Pete  stood  with  bared  head  before  the 
moonlight.  The  only  sound  was  the  distant,  unplace- 
able  murmur  of  the  plains,  a  whispering  echo  which 
spoke  of  vast  solitudes,  which  told  of  the  weariness 
and  loneliness  of  life.  There  was  a  haunting  some- 
thing in  the  soundless  echoes  of  the  solitudes,  in  the 
loneliness  of  the  moon  upon  the  plains,  which  made 
Rangy  wonder  at  his  own  actions.  Beyond  doubt 
Miss  Dick  was  a  brigand,  a  member  of  the  Dervishers. 
Why  should  he  give  to  her  memory  a  single  thought? 

Rangy  mounted  slowly,  and  he  turned  the  cay  use's 
face  to  the  south.  Then,  with  barely  a  conscious 
effort,  as  though  in  response  to  the  magnetic  lure 
of  some  power  which  had  gripped  his  senses,  he 
turned  the  mount's  nose  again  to  the  north,  towards 
those  elusive  shadows  into  which  the  girl  had  ridden. 
For  a  long  time  he  sat  there,  peering  into  the  vague- 
ness of  shadow  land,  almost  as  though  he  hoped  this 
memory  of  Miss  Dick  would  materialize  into  physical 
form  and  greet  him  again  with  its  living  voice. 

How  silent  and  pulseless  the  world  had  become! 
Only  this  one  vast  beating  heart  of  the  universe 
about  him  now,  whispering  in  his  wondering  ears 
its  strange  mockeries.  Only  the  silence  of  a/fnight 


246  RANGY   PETE 

so  poignant  as  to  be  like  the  far-off  echo  of  a  living 
voice,  a  vast,  incomprehensible  monument  of  nature 
which  would  live  forever  with  this  shimmer  of  the 
moon  thrown  over  it,  a  taunt  to  the  littleness  of 
man  and  to  the  pettiness  of  his  devotions!  Silence 
everywhere  upon  the  ranges;  patches  of  moon- 
flecked  chaparral  and  plains  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  with  the  silver  veil  of  night  wrapping  it  all 
in  its  own  mystery. 

The  grip  of  it  all  was  tugging  at  the  man's  heart; 
it  was  pouring  into  the  submerged  chambers  of  the 
soul  the  old  message  that  in  the  flitting  of  life  one 
should  take  the  prizes  which  meet  the  hand;  it  was 
toying  with  skilful  fingers  over  the  strings  of  emo- 
tions; it  was  whispering  that  life  is  a  glory  only  when 
man  makes  it  so. 

Rangy  Pete's  lips  grew  firm  and  his  breath  caught 
sharply.  The  grip  of  life  was  upon  him,  with  its 
passion  of  possession. 

The  moon  rose  higher,  to  peer  down  upon  those 
firm-set  lips,  to  stare  past  the  blue  veil  of  his  eyes, 
and  to  search  down  in  the  depths  of  his  being  for 
other  strings  to  play  upon;  and  while  its  oval  fullness 
swept  slowly  up  the  arc  of  the  sky,  Rangy  Pete  was 
attempting  to  fight  out  his  own  battle. 

He  sat  so  long  in  silence  that  the  burnt-yellow 
cayuse  looked  over  its  shoulder  and  whinnied  softly. 

"I'm  guessing  you're  right,  yellow  boy,"  Rangy 
agreed,  at  length.  "We're  making  plumb  idiots  of 


RANGY    PETE  247 

ourselves,  ain't  we,  cayuse?  We  mustn't  let  ourselves 
get  any  touch  of  moon-madness,  for  our  job  right 
now  is  to  sit  across  this  trail  and  keep  any  of  them 
wandering  coyotes  from  the  Snaky  Y  from  picking 
it  up." 

With  that  decision  upon  him  Rangy  dismounted, 
unsaddled  the  cayuse,  and  rolled  himself  up  in  a 
blanket  at  the  edge  of  the  chaparral  at  a  point  where 
he  could  command  a  fair  view  of  the  moon-swept 
stretches  of  plain  lying  to  the  south  and  towards 
Triple  Butte. 

It  was  in  the  wakeful  hours  of  night  that  the 
resolution  came  to  him.  He  was  an  outcast,  so  why 
not  follow  his  own  whims?  He  would  pursue  the 
route  taken  by  Miss  Dick  in  the  night;  and  perhaps 
off  there,  in  the  land  of  hills  and  gorges  which  lay 
beyond  the  pass  in  the  buttes,  he  would  find  her 
among  her  own  mountain  peaks  and  forested  valleys, 
and  perhaps,  when  he  found  her,  he  would  be  able 
to  understand  some  of  those  things  which  were  now 
a  mystery. 

Through  the  night  there  were  no  riders  from 
the  Snaky  Y,  or  from  Triple  Butte,  or  from  any 
direction  whatever;  so  when  the  first  rays  of  the  sun 
heralded  the  day,  Rangy  began  his  journey.  He 
would  follow  Miss  Dick,  if  need  be,  even  to  the 
haunts  of  the  Dervishers. 

The  track  of  her  cayuse,  as  it  skirted  the  clusters 
of  chaparral,  was  not  hard  to  follow,  so  Rangy  found 


248  RANGY   PETE 

that  he  could  devote  a  portion  of  his  time  to  a  pre- 
cautionary outlook  for  stray  riders  who  might  notify 
those  posses  from  the  Snaky  Y.  Single  riders  would 
not  be  worrying,  even  posses  of  two  or  three  would 
not  be  alarming,  except  for  the  fact  that  Miss  Dick 
was  somewhere  on  before. 

It  was  because  of  this  keen  outlook  for  stray 
punchers  that  Rangy  almost  missed  the  turning 
point  in  his  life.  For  it  was  really  the  shying  of  the 
burnt-yellow  cayuse  which  drew  his  attention  to  that 
strange  looking  setting  by  the  side  of  the  chaparral. 
At  sight  of  it,  Rangy  jerked  the  astonished  cayuse 
into  a  stop,  and  he  uttered  a  curious  variety  of 
expletives,  none  of  which  seemed  to  satisfy  his 
imagination. 

For  a  time  Rangy  sat  there,  staring  down  at  the 
scene  before  him,  with  his  left  fingers  toying  with 
the  tip  of  his  ear. 

"Jumping  Mavericks!"  he  exclaimed,  at  the 
exhaustion  of  his  expletives.  "If  them  ain't  Dan 
Merrill's  'vaporated  apples,  you  can  call  me  a  sheep 
herder." 

Rangy  dismounted  slowly,  as  though  quite  in  con- 
sternation at  the  scene  before  him;  and  just  as  slowly 
and  cautiously  he  examined  a  box  which  lay  there 
before  the  stare  of  his  eyes.  It  was  a  paint-smeared 
box,  which  had  evidently  contained  evaporated 
apples,  for  here,  scattered  all  about,  were  heaping 
handfuls  of  the  fragments  of  apples  tossed  recklessly 


RANGY    PETE  249 

through    the   grass    and   the    sprinkling   of    sand. 

Dazedly,  totally  uncomprehending,  Rangy  began 
to  gather  the  scattered  store  of  apples  for  which 
both  he  and  Miss  Dick  had  risked  so  much.  There 
was  something  strange  here,  something  wrong. 

Rangy  rose  to  his  feet  quickly,  and  began  a  search 
of  the  range  and  the  chaparral  in  the  immediate 
vicinity,  in  hope,  almost  in  fear,  that  he  would  find 
something  further  to  round  out  the  hidden  points 
in  the  story.  Yet  the  story  told  to  his  trained  eyes 
was  a  simple  one.  There  had  been  but  the  one  horse 
pass  this  way  and  but  the  one  go  away  again.  That 
meant  that  his  first  fears  were  unfounded.  Miss 
Dick  had  not  been  attacked  or  waylaid.  This  was 
her  work  alone. 

With  still  greater  amaze  upon  him,  Rangy  returned 
to  the  task  of  scraping  up  those  evidences  of  Miss 
Dick's  eccentricity.  He  gathered  up  the  apples  and 
heaped  them  into  the  box,  and  when  he  smoothed 
them  down  he  found  that  the  receptacle  was  filled 
to  the  brim.  Miss  Dick  doubtless  had  not  taken  so 
much  as  a  single  piece  of  evaporated  apple  with  her; 
yet  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that  this  was 
the  Merrill  box.  The  girl  also  had  been  seemingly 
content,  for  she  had  ridden  on  towards  the  northern 
buttes. 

Rangy  sat  down  beside  that  box  of  discarded 
treasure  and  pondered  it  for  long,  with  the  tips  of 
his  left  fingers  constantly  playing  with  his  ear. 


250  RANGY    PETE 

Suddenly  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  sprang  to  the 
cayuse's  back  and  turned  it  once  more  in  the  direction 
of  Triple  Butte. 

"Ike  Collander's  the  boy  who  can  tell  us  all  about 
these  funny  things  that  have  been  going  on,"  he 
informed  himself,  "and  we've  just  got  to  find  out 
what  it  means,  yeller  boy,  Dan  Merrill  or  no  Dan 
Merrill.  We'll  use  our  head,  but  we've  got  to  find 
out." 

A  mile  from  Triple  Butte,  Rangy  guided  the 
cayuse  in  among  the  chaparral.  There  he  picketed 
the  animal,  and  a  half  hour  later  he  was  within  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  rear  of  the  Collander 
store. 

From  the  security  of  a  cluster  of  chaparral  he 
studied  the  town  of  Triple  Butte,  but  the  only 
outward  reflection  of  its  attitude  was  a  great  weari- 
ness because  of  the  trials  which  had  so  recently  come 
to  its  doors.  At  the  best,  it  was  not  an  hour  for 
activity  and  now  there  was  but  little  of  it  in  evidence. 
There  were  still  some  head-drooping  cayuses  in  front 
of  the  Burke  saloon,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  human- 
ity anywhere.  The  town  doubtless  would  be  sleeping 
off  its  debauch  of  excitement,  so  Rangy  judged  it  a 
most  opportune  moment  for  advance. 

At  the  worst,  discovery  meant  battle  with  what 
remnant  of  the  Snaky  Y  forces  might  have  been  held 
back  from  the  combing  of  those  southern  trails  and 
ranges;  but  that  was  a  chance  which  he  would  have 


RANGY   PETE  251 

to  take.  For  there  were  other  things  storming  at 
his  brain  now  which  seemed  more  threatening  than 
the  augury  of  battle. 

Rangy  moved  forward  with  the  utmost  caution. 
Battle,  against  the  odds  which  Triple  Butte  could 
muster,  was  not  to  be  encouraged. 

But  Triple  Butte's  eyes  seemed  closed  in  sleep. 
The  first  pale  rays  of  the  sun  slanted  down  upon  the 
dusty  highway  and  threw  long  shadows  from  the 
gaunt  legs  of  the  horses  standing  in  front  of  the 
Burke  saloon.  Rangy  walked  confidently  to  the  rear 
of  the  Collander  store,  found  it  locked,  and  just  as 
confidently  let  himself  in.  He  crossed  the  store- 
room and  moved  towards  the  front.  Ike,  he  fancied, 
would  be  sound  asleep  behind  the  counter;  still,  he 
might  be  able  to  throw  some  light  upon  that  mystery 
of  the  evaporated  apples.  And  Rangy  felt  that  some 
light  was  necessary,  if  his  brains  were  to  continue 
to  perform  their  natural  functions. 

Just  at  the  doorway  he  paused. 

It  was  strange,  but  there  were  voices  out  there 
in  Ike's  front  store.  Voices  in  (Hollander's  store,  of 
all  places,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  demanded 
secrecy  and  when  the  balance  of  Triple  Butte  seemed 
to  be  asleep!  Rangy  stole  closer  and  he  listened 
with  caution. 

In  the  room  beyond  a  dominant  voice  began  to 
hold  sway. 

"Holy    snakes!"    Rangy    protested    to    himself. 


252  RANGY   PETE 

"  What's  come  over  this  town?  What's  Merrill  doing 
here  at  this  time  of  day?" 

The  man's  voice  seemed  to  give  its  own  answer. 

"Shore,  all  you  gotta  do,  Ike,  is  to  send  word  to 
Rangy  that  the  coast  is  all  clear  and  for  him  to  come 
back  to  town.  I'm  guessing  you  won't  have  any 
trouble  finding  out  where  he  is;  and  when  he  comes 
back,  you  won't  have  anything  to  do  but  sit  back 
and  save  your  hide." 

"Why've  you  got  it  in  for  Rangy?"  Collander's 
placating  voice  answered.  "He  ain't  been  doing 
anything  to  you.  He  was  full  of  red-eye  last  night, 
same's  you  was  yoreself,  and  when  gents  get  sober, 
they  forget  —  ' 

"What's  he  done?"  Merrill  interjected  a  slightly 
bellowing  voice.  "Ain't  he  been  helping  that  woman 
bandit  to  get  away?  And  ain't  she  the  one  what 
stole  my  evaporated  apples  from  in  front  of  your 
store?  What  more  do  you  want?" 

"What's  a  few  evaporated  apples?"  Collander 
insisted;  and  Rangy  felt  a  glow  of  warmth  for  the 
small  man  who  was  fighting  out  his  battles  in  his 
absence.  "If  that's  all  that's  eating  you,  Dan,  you 
just  slope  out  to  my  storeroopi  and  take  all  the 
apples  you  want.  There's  most  a  dozen  cases  of 
them  there  — 

Dan  Merrill  made  a  noise  indicative  of  disgust. 

"What  good  is  yore  evaporated  apples?"  he 
demanded  in  a  high-pitched  voice.  "  You  don't  seem 


RANGY   PETE  S5S 

to  know  what's  been  goin'  on  around  here,  Ike 
Collander.  It  weren't  them  apples  what  the  Der- 
vishers  come  to  steal;  it's  what's  in  the  apples." 

Rangy  Pete  experienced  the  same  sensation  of 
astonishment  which  caused  Ike  Collander  to  wait 
for  a  moment  before  replying.  Then  shortly  he 
heard  Ike's  eager  oice  demanding, 

"An'  what's  in  them  apples,  Dan?" 

"  They  ain't  nothin'  atoll  but  ten  thousand  dollars 
in  gold.  That's  all  that's  in  'em." 

"Gosh  A'mighty!"  Ike  Collander  exclaimed,  and 
his  voice  indicated  that  he  had  acquired  a  new  view- 
point on  life.  "How  comes  it  they's  ten  thousand 
dollars  hid  away  in  them  apples?" 

"You  otta  know  it  ain't  safe  to  go  shippin*  it  no 
ordinary  way,  with  them  bandits  flockin'  about  the 
express  offices." 

Dan  Merrill  continued  to  vent  his  spleen  upon 
Ike  Collander,  but  Rangy  Pete  quite  lost  track  of 
his  words. 

Merrill's  announcement  had  come  to  him  with  a 
cold  shock  of  amazement.  Ten  thousand  dollars 
hidden  away  in  a  shipment  of  evaporated  apples! 
What  the  money  was  for  did  not  concern  Rangy  Pete. 
But  he  found  that  he  was  keenly  interested  in  the 
fact  that  it  was  this  particular  box  of  evaporated 
apples  for  which  Miss  Dick  had  shown  such  a  pref- 
erence, and  for  which  she  had  been  willing  to  run 
such  a  risk.  That  knowledge  left  Rangy  Pete  hot 


254  RANGY    PETE 

with  anger,  towards  himself,  towards  Miss  Dick,  and 
most  of  all  towards  Dan  Merrill  for  having  shipped 
money  in  such  a  fashion.  The  latter  anger,  he  shortly 
realized,  was  absurd.  But  it  was  indicative  of  the 
new  feelings  which  had  sprouted  somewhere  within 
him  in  the  past  few  days. 

Miss  Dick  a  bandit,  a  real  highwayman !  Her  own 
actions  convicted  her  of  that.  For  when  Rangy  Pete 
revolved  the  circumstances  in  his  mind  in  rapid 
retrospect  he  could  not  find  any  more  charitable 
interpretation  to  put  upon  the  girl's  conduct.  She 
had  gone  to  great  lengths  to  acquire  that  particular 
box  of  apples  containing  Merrill's  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  gold,  and  in  the  end  she  had  made  of  him, 
Rangy  Pete,  a  tool  to  accomplish  her  end. 

Rangy  felt  the  blood  surging  warmly  through  his 
veins.  It  mounted  to  his  forehead  and  burned  its 
way  through  the  tan  of  his  cheeks. 

Miss  Dick  a  highwayman,  an  outcast,  as  she  her- 
self had  said.  And  there  had  been  those  queer  emo- 
tions which  grew  up  within  him  at  the  first  sight  of  her. 

While  hurried  thoughts  surged  through  his  brain, 
Rang  lost  track  of  time.  He  forgot  that  there  were 
men  in  the  room  beyond.  For  the  time  being  he 
forgot  all  things  in  the  world  except  that  the  blue- 
eyed  girl  who  had  looked  at  him  so  wistfully  was  in 
reality  a  bandit.  She  had  looked  at  him  wistfully, 
had  played  with  him,  toyed  with  that  thin  strain  of 
good  within  him  — 


RANGY    PETE  255 

A  loud,  eager  voice  in  the  store  beyond  drew  Rangy 
back  to  the  present.  It  was  Merrill,  shouting: 

" Bully  boy,  Ike.  Then  they  didn't  get  it  after  all." 

After  that  there  were  rapid  steps. 

In  that  instant  Rangy  knew  that  (Hollander  had 
told  Merrill  of  the  exchange  of  boxes.  He  knew, 
as  well,  that  Merrill  was  coming  to  the  storeroom. 
His  first  prompting  vas  to  stand  and  face  Merrill. 
His  second  prompting  induced  him  to  step  behind 
a  convenient  pyramid  of  crated  goods. 

The  door  was  thrown  open  and  Merrill  stepped 
through,  followed  by  Ike  Collander  and  Buck 
Menzie. 

"Where  d'you  say  that  box  is?"  Merrill  demanded 
excitedly.  "Don't  go  gapin'  there  all  day,  Collander." 

Ike  Collander  was  staring  in  a  worried  way  at  the 
vacant  place  where  he  had  last  seen  the  paint-smeared 
box.  Then  he  brushed  his  hand  across  his  forehead  as 
though  some  of  the  confusion  of  the  night  before 
were  still  nagging  at  his  brain. 

"Rangy  and  me  carried  it  and  put  it  right  atop 
that  pile,"  he  declared.  "And  I  remember  it's  there 
last  night  when  I  goes  over  to  Tony  Burke's.  I 
remember  seem'  it  right  atop  the  pile  when  we 
thought  the  bandits  had  —  but  it  ain't  got  wings 
and  flowed  away.  It's  gotta  be  here  summers  - 

Without  waiting  for  encouragement,  Merrill 
tumbled  the  pile  of  boxes  over  and  searched  each 
one  for  the  identifying  paint-smear. 


256  RANGY    PETE 

"It  ain't  got  wings,"  Merrill  sneered,  "but  they's 
been  sumthin'  here  what  has.  It's  that  woman  what 
plugged  Berger  outside  Burke's  last  night.  I've 
hearn  of  she  hell-cats,  but  I  ain't  never  saw  one  afore. 
She's  stole  that  box,  an'  Dexter  caught  her  when 
it's  too  late.  They's  a  hull  bunch  of  bandits  at 
Burke's  last  night,  fer  did'n  you  see  how  they  shot 
out  the  lights?" 

The  mention  of  the  female  bandit  brought  the 
blood  once  more  to  Rangy  Pete's  cheeks  and  fore- 
head. Perhaps  she  had  been  too  clever  for  Dan 
Merrill,  but  it  was  also  plain  that  she  had  been  too 
clever  for  him  as  well.  The  situation,  combined  with 
Merrill's  querulous  voice,  left  Rangy  Pete  tingling 
for  action. 

At  that  particular  moment  Dan  Merrill  chose  to 
divert  his  stream  of  abuse  from  the  absent  bandit 
to  the  seemingly  absent  Rangy  Pete. 

"An'  they  ain't  no  sayin'  but  what  that  fool  of 
a  Rangy  Pete  is  in  cahoots  with  the  bandits," 
Merrill  directed  his  spleen  at  Buck  Menzie.  "I 
been  thinkin'  he's  actin'  queer  of  late,  an'  you  seen 
what  he  done  last  night  when  them  bandits  shot 
the  lights  out." 

"Yeah,"  Menzie  drawled.  "I  seen  and  hearn  all 
he  done  last  night.  My  ears  was  both  workin'  right 
when  Dexter  come  back  from  the  Hash  Knife,  and 
they  didn't  miss  a  word.  My  eyes  might  of  been 
a  bit  bleary,  but  I  kinda  remember  seein'  Stipples 


.. 


RANGY   PETE  257 

go  down  the  road  to  meet  them  three  men  - 

Menzie's  taunt  was  rewarded  with  a  fine  stream 
of  invective  which  reached  out  and  embraced  Ike 
Collander. 

"He  mighta  done  that  last  night  'cause  I's 
drunk,"  Merrill  broke  off  from  invective  to  connected 
words,  "an'  'cause  he  closed  my  shootin*  eye  when 
I's  lookin'  the  other  way.  But  that  was  last  night. 
This  mornin'  I'd  shore  like  to  get  my  eyes  on  that 
fool  of  a  Rangy  Pete.  I'd  —  " 

Dan  Merrill's  words  broke  off  as  abruptly  as 
though  his  lips  had  been  closed  with  a  blow.  His 
mouth  remained  slightly  open,  and  he  stared  directly 
in  front  of  him  with  the  attitude  of  a  man  who  sees 
a  most  unexpected  apparition. 

Ike  Collander,  looking  in  the  same  direction,  sa\* 
that  the  apparition  was  Rangy  Pete.  He  saw,  as 
well,  that  Rangy  was  standing  about  a  yard  from 
a  pyramid  of  dry-goods  boxes,  that  his  pose  was 
negligent,  but  that  both  thumbs  were  hooked  into 
his  leather  belt  just  above  the  hip  bones.  Imme- 
diately below  the  right  thumb  was  the  bulge  made 
by  the  holster  of  a  six-gun. 

In  the  flash  of  swift  time,  Collander  noticed  that 
Rangy's  eyes  were  hard  and  cold  and  gleaming, 
with  a  hardness  which  he  had  never  seen  before; 
yet  when  Rangy  spoke,  Collander  was  surprised  at 
the  mildness  in  his  drawl. 

"It  ain't  noways  polite,  Dan,  to  go  clippin'  off 


258  RANGY   PETE 

yore  words  thattaway  when  another  person  horns 
in,"1  Rangy 's  voice  came  clear  and  smooth  and 
velvety.  "I'd  shore  admire  a  hull  lot  to  know  what 
yer  gonna  do  when  you  get  yore  eyes  on  me,  though 
it  kinda  looks  to  me  as  though  they's  one  of  yore 
eyes  what's  had  an  argyment  with  sum  thin'." 

Merrill's  face  flamed  a  passionate  red. 

The  situation,  he  knew,  would  have  been  quite 
bad  enough  without  witnesses.  With  two  men  alone, 
there  might  have  been  some  opportunity  for  com- 
promise, or  for  trickery.  But  at  this  particular 
moment,  with  the  tongue-wagging  Buck  Menzie 
looking  on  and  eagerly  annotating  every  word  and 
movement,  the  future  looked  different. 

Merrill's  shifty  eyes  knew  that  they  were  staring 
into  the  face  of  death.  The  brain  behind  the  eyes 
knew  the  falseness  of  Rangy  Pete's  velvety  voice; 
it  knew  the  taunt  in  Rangy's  drawl;  it  knew,  as 
well,  that  Rangy  was  trying  to  goad  Merrill  into 
the  first  hostile  move. 

Dan  Merrill  stood  still,  with  the  flame  of  passion 
upon  his  features.  For  Merrill  knew  that  for  the 
first  time  in  his  quick-shooting  career  his  cards  had 
been  called.  As  he  stood  there  through  the  seconds 
which  seemed  endless,  he  thought  of  the  many  times 
when  he  had  held  men  as  Rangy  Pete  now  held  him; 
and  he  remembered  how,  in  the  end,  he  had  goaded 
them  into  the  one  hostile  move  which  let  him  shoot 
them  down  in  cold  blood.  That  was  Merrill's  way. 


RANGY    PETE  259 

Hold  men  by  the  power  of  his  personality,  taunt 
them  until  their  weaker  wills  broke  before  his  gibes, 
and  then,  when  they  reached  for  their  guns,  to  shoot 
them  with  the  calm  surety  that  the  lawless  law  of 
the  land  would  be  with  him. 

How  many  men  had  he  killed  in  that  way?  Four 
—  five  —  or  was  it  six? 

A  cold  perspiration  came  and  stood  on  the  forehead 
of  Dan  Merrill,  the  swift-shooting  fire-eater. 

An  even  break?  God,  how  he  had  always  laughed 
at  the  words  before!  An  even  break?  That  had 
not  been  his  way.  A  little  of  the  edge  upon  the  other 
fellow.  That  was  it  —  just  that  thin  margin  of  edge 
which  Rangy  Pete  now  had  upon  him. 

Something  of  those  quick,  flaming  thoughts  must 
have  shown  upon  Merrill's  face,  for  Rangy  Pete's 
lips  curled  into  a  smile  which  was  nothing  more 
than  a  taunt. 

"You  shorely  ain't  gonna  tell  me  you  been  a 
lookin'  fer  me  to  give  me  a  punchin'  job  out  to  the 
Snaky  Y,"  Rangy  went  on.  "I  ain't  sayin'  but 
what  li'l  Danny  needs  sumone  to  go"  round  with 
him  an'  keep  the  big  boys  from  mussin'  up  his  purty 
clothes,  but  they  ain't  no  use  askin'  me  to  ride  herd 
thattaway.  You  got  the  wrong  idea,  Danny.  I  ain't 
no  nurse-maid.  I'm  a  puncher." 

Merrill  clenched  his  fingers  and  held  them  tight 
with  an  effort  of  the  will.  His  face  grew  a  darker 
red  and  the  flame  of  his  anger  shone  from  his  eyes. 


260  RANGY    PETE 

If  only  he  could  gain  one  small  second  of  time. 
If  only  Fate  would  step  in  and  give  him  that  one 
little  gift  from  the  great  gulf  of  eternity.  Just  one 
second.  Just  one  second  ahead  of  Rangy  Pete. 
That  would  do  it. 

In  his  boasts,  Merrill  had  bragged  of  the  even 
break  which  he  had  always  given  the  other  fellow. 
But  in  these  cold  seconds  which  seemed  to  be  mea- 
suring him  up  for  life  or  for  death,  Merrill  knew 
that  never  in  his  life  had  he  given  the  other  man 
an  even  break.  He  had  always  asked  the  sure  thing. 
Oh,  God,  for  one  second  out  of  the  endless  cycle  of 
time  —  one  second  —  a  sure  thing  - 

"Er  mabbe  Danny's  gonna  say  he's  sorry  fer 
wantin'  to  pick  on  a  pore  li'l  feller  like  Rangy  Pete," 
Rangy  went  on,  with  increasing  mockery  in  his 
voice.  "It's  sorta  funny,  ain't  it,  Buck,  how  Danny's 
been  a  lookin'  an*  a  lookin*  fer  me,  an*  when  he  finds 
me  he's  that  joyous  he  can't  find  a  word  to  say? 
If  I's  Danny,  I'd  do  sumthin*.  I  would'n  go  to 
standin'  there  like  I's  made  of  stone." 

Merrill's  fingers  clenched  more  firmly  still.  Gad, 
if  only  he  dared  make  that  one  swift  reach  for  his 
six-gun.  That,  though  it  meant  death,  would  be  a 
relief.  He  could  understand  now  how  those  other 
men  had  broken  before  his  will.  But  he  would  not 
break  — 

He  would  not  reach.  He  had  heard  of  Rangy's 
speed  on  the  draw.  To  test  it?  Not  now.  Some 


RANGY    PETE  261 

other  day,  perhaps.  Some  day  in  the  future  when 
the  edge  was  with  and  not  against  him. 

The  drops  of  perspiration  stood  large  and  prom- 
inent upon  Merrill's  forehead.  Then  he  forced  a 
laugh  to  his  lips.  He  tried  to  bring  a  casual  tone 
to  his  lips  as  he  spoke. 

"What's  wrong  with  you,  Rangy  Pete,  you  tarna- 
tion idjiot?"  he  demanded,  with  an  attempt  at 
bantering.  "  I  shore  have  been  lookin'  for  you  - 

"An'  now't  you  found  me,  what's  there  so  funny 
to  laugh  about?" 

"You,  Rangy,  standin'  there  like  you're  ready  to 
claw  sumbody's  eyes  out.  You  ain't  got  me  right, 
Rangy.  I  been  lookin'  fer  you  'cause  yer  the  best 
tracker  of  trails  in  two  counties,  and  I  got  a  job 
for  you." 

Already  Merrill  was  feeling  much  freer.  His  quick 
wit  had  come  to  his  rescue  at  last.  It  had  saved  him 
from  the  humiliation  of  backing  down  before  Rangy 
Pete.  It  had,  he  believed,  put  an  entirely  different 
complexion  upon  affairs  in  the  eyes  of  Buck  Menzie. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  yer  wantin'  me  to  ride 
herd  on  you,  Dan,  to  keep  the  bad  men  away?" 

Merrill  compelled  himself  to  twist  his  lips  into 
the  shape  of  a  grin.  It  was  difficult,  but  there  was 
still  that  thin  edge  of  advantage  with  Rangy  Pete. 

"It  amounts  to  'bout  the  same  thing,"  Merrill 
admitted,  with  his  forced  smile  still  in  evidence. 
"You  mayn't  know  it,  but  them  Dervishers  got 


262  RANGY    PETE 

away  with  ten  thousand  dollars  of  my  money  in 
gold,  and  we're  gonta  take  a  posse  and  follow  them 
till  we  get  the  gold  or  cut  it  outa  their  hides.  We 
want  the  best  tracker  in  the  whole  State  to  lead  the 
way,  and  you're  him." 

At  this  stage,  Merrill  really  began  to  expand. 
His  brain  was  such  a  versatile  thing.  It  had  gotten 
him  out  of  more  than  one  bad  corner,  and  now  it 
was  serving  him  again  to  fine  purpose.  Perhaps  it 
would  shortly  reverse  their  positions  and  put  Rangy 
Pete  in  the  corner.  In  that  event,  it  might  not  be 
necessary  to  lead  a  posse  into  the  hills. 

"Them  kind  words  is  most  more'n  I  can  stand," 
Rangy  declared,  with  apparent  sincerity.  "They 
touch  a  soft  spot  in  me  what  wants  to  weep.  But 
you  otta  know,  Dan,  'at  I  got  a  sort  of  likin'  fer 
this  ole  hide  of  mine.  It's  queer,  but  I  got  a  likin' 
fer  myself  what  I  can't  get  over.  If  it  wa'n't  fer 
that,  I  most  mabbe  would 'n  mind  ridin'  out  in  front 
an'  lettin'  you  come  smoochin'  along  behind." 

Rangy  Pete  waited  expectantly.  If  Merrill 
refused  to  accept  that  insult,  then  he  could  be  sure 
that  Merrill  was  determined  to  preserve  life  at  the 
cost  of  all  things  else. 

Merrill's  fingers  closed  again,  and  his  lips  twitched. 
But  with  a  supreme  effort  he  recovered  his  smile 
and  held  it.  He  even  forced  a  laugh. 

"But  I  mean  it,  Rangy,"  he  declared.  "I  shore 
want  you  to  track  the  Dervishers  for  me." 


RANGY    PETE  2CS 

Rangy  Pete's  manner  changed,  though  his  watch- 
fulness did  not  slacken  in  the  least. 

"That's  different/'  he  admitted,  as  the  drawl 
left  his  voice.  "Why  didn't  you  say  that  in  the 
first  place?  But  what  makes  you  think  they  got 
your  money?  The  best  I  ever  heard  about  your 
money,  Dan,  was  that  you  had  debts;  and  it  seems 
to  me  I  remember  a  session  last  night  over  at  Tony's." 

Again  Merrill's  face  became  a  picture  of  confused 
desires;  but  in  the  end  caution  won  over  anger. 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  happened  last  night," 
he  scowled  savagely.  "That  was  my  ten  thousand 
and  they  stole  it.  They  robbed  me,  and  somebody 
has  gotta  string  for  it." 

Rangy  nodded  reflectively,  almost  absently. 

"I  see,"  he  concluded.  "Trying  to  slip  something 
over  on  Ring'em  Foster.  And  won't  he  be  the 
pleased  little  boy  when  he  hears  about  this?"  Then 
Rangy's  voice  sharpened.  "Looks  as  thougli  you 
had  some  kind,  of  a  skin  game  going,  Merrill,  and 
I'd  start  looking  for  the  bottom  if  I  had  the  time. 
Now,  is  there  anybody  else  besides  Ring'em  who 
can't  get  Danny  cornered  in  the  same  corral  with 
his  yellow  boys?  Ike,  how  about  you?  Seems  to  me 
that  little  scowling  Danny  has  been  dodging  you  for 
some  time.  Ike  Collander,  you  got  a  bill  against  Dan?' 

Collander  nodded  his  head  in  swift  appreciation. 

"You  know  I  have,  Rangy,"  he  declared. 

"Then,  Ike,  you  just  step  outside,  and  you  make 


264  RANGY   PETE 

up  that  bill.  Do  it  pronto,  and  don't  you  go  to 
being  stingy  with  yourself.  And  Ike,  before  you  go, 
frisk  little  Danny  for  any  cannon  he  might  be  toting 
around  him  with  evil  intent.  He's  looking  restless, 
and  I  wouldn't  nohow  want  you  to  come  back  and 
find  him  perforated  with  little  holes." 

Ike  Collander,  it  developed,  had  no  scruples 
against  such  a  task.  He  even  appeared  to  put  a 
little  personal  touch  into  the  operation,  so  that  in 
the  end  he  produced  two  derringers  which  he  pre- 
sented to  Rangy  Pete. 

"Now  you  mosey,"  Rangy  instructed.  "Buck 
Menzie,  is  there  anything  that  little  Dan  is  owing 
you  in  the  way  of  red-eye  or  anything  else?" 

Menzie  removed  his  sombrero,  and  he  used  the 
tip  of  a  finger  to  agitate  the  top  of  his  head. 

"Don't  you  be  afraid  to  speak  up,  Buck,"  Rangy 
encouraged.  "Little  Dan  has  got  a  big  and  generous 
heart,  but  it's  only  intimate  friends  like  me  what 
knows  it.  I  found  out  long  ago,  Buck,  that  Dan's 
rough  and  shaggy  on  the  outside,  but  behind  what 
they  call  a  rough  exterior  there's  a  heart  a  burning 
with  the  milk  of  human  kindness." 

"I  do  sort  of  remember  a  bill  of  two- three  years 
standing  what  Dan  never  paid,"  Buck  picked  up 
courage.  "  It  weren't  much,  only  twenty-five  yellow 
boys,  but  I  been  thinking  I  could  use  it." 

"You  shore  can,"  Rangy  replied  mildly.  "Dan's 
already  reaching  for  his  pocket,  and  I  wouldn't  be 


RANGY    PETE  265 

noways  surprised  if  he  gave  you  a  couple  of  extra 
yellow  boys  for  forgetting  about  it  for  so  long." 

Merrill,  braggart  and  bully  that  he  was,  still  had 
sufficient  intelligence  to  recognize  when  the  game 
of  life  had  turned  against  him.  So,  with  a  fair  imita- 
tion of  a  smile,  he  cleared  up  the  long-standing  debt 
with  Menzie,  and  when  (Hollander  returned  a 
moment  later  with  a  bill  running  into  the  hundreds, 
Merrill  paid  it  without  question. 

Rangy 's  attitude  was  one  of  astonishment. 

"Jumping  Mavericks!"  he  exclaimed  mildly.  "If 
it  ain't  funny  where  Dan  gets  ail  the  money.  Last 
night  he's  sobbing  to  Ring'em  about  the  crool  deeds 
of  poverty;  and  now  you  got  me  feeling  so  sad  and 
sorrowful,  Dan,  that  I  can't  nohow  resist  yore  offer 
to  go  traipsing  after  Dervishers.  I'm  hearing  you 
pay  good  money  for  trackers." 

"Highest  going,"  Merrill  agreed  eagerly,  for 
already  he  could  see  the  opening  of  the  avenue  which 
would  lead  to  revenge  upon  Rangy  Pete.  "Name 
yore  own  figure,  Rangy.  Anything  in  reason,  and 
it's  yours." 

"Suppose  we  say  a  couple  of  hundred  yellow  boys 
for  pointing  out  the  person  what  took  yore  ten 
thousand  dollars  away  from  this  building.  Don't 
that  sound  reasonable?" 

"It  does,"  Merrill  admitted  hastily.  "You  point 
out  the  person,  and  if  he's  within  gun  distance,  you 
get  the  two  hundred." 


266  RANGY    PETE 

Rangy  considered  for  a  moment,  through  which 
interval  it  was  evident  that  he  revised  some  intention 
in  his  brain,  for  now  he  contented  himself  with  a 
sharp  nod  and  the  brief  remark: 

"All  right,  gents,  I'll  be  smooching  out  on  the  job." 

With  methodical  care,  Rangy  walked  past  the 
three  men  to  the  doorway  leading  to  the  Collander 
store.  He  closed  the  door,  locked  it  from  the  inside, 
tried  it  carefully,  then  dropped  the  key  in  his  pocket. 
Next  he  handed  one  of  Merrill's  six-guns  to  Ike 
Collander,  and  threw  the  other  through  a  hole  into 
the  unused  loft.  Finally  Rangy  walked  to  the 
outer  door,  tested  the  lock,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
in  the  doorway  looking  in  upon  the  men. 

"What  you  gonna  do,  you  idjiot?"  Collander 
demanded.  "You  gonna  lock  us  in?" 

But  Rangy 's  eyes  were  engaged  in  a  shrewd  study 
of  Merrill's  angered  features. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me,  Merrill,  for  over- 
hearing what  you  was  planning  to  do  through  Ike 
Collander,"  he  remarked  coldly.  "They  ain't  no  use 
sending  any  messages  to  me  ilow  saying  that  the 
trail  is  all  clear,  and  they  ain't  any  use  holding  any- 
thing against  Ike.  For  if  you  do,  Merrill !  —  I 
heard  what  Ring'em  Foster  said  to  you  last  night, 
and  I  know  the  kind  of  holes  he's  gonna  claw  into 
yore  hide  as  soon  as  he  hears  how  you  been  double- 
crossing  him.  But  listen,  Merrill!  You  touch  so 
much  as  one  of  Ike's  little  fingers,  and  the  things 


RANGY   PETE  967 

that'll  happen  to  you  will  make  you  think  Foster 
was  talking  about  a  hugging  match.  Don't  you  go 
to  listening  wrong,  or  getting  any  stray  ideas  into 
yore  head.  I  may  be  mooching  on  my  way,  but 
there  won't  be  many  things  I  won't  hear,  and  if  I 
hear  anything  about  Ike  getting  mussed  up,  Merrill, 
there  won't  be  enough  punchers  west  of  the  Mississippi 
to  keep  me  from  getting  at  you;  and  if  I  have  to 
get  at  you  thai  way,  you  debt-dodging  hold-out, 
shooting  will  be  too  good.  I'll  rope  you  up  and  cut 
you  to  pieces  with  a  pen-knife.  Now,  Merrill,  you 
gonna  touch  Ike?" 

The  man's  baleful  eyes  had  become  shifty  and 
nervous. 

"My  God,  no!"  he  exclaimed  fervently;  then  his 
voice  became  whining,  "You  won't  tell  Foster?" 

Rangy  considered  the  other  contemptuously. 

"I'm  thinking  I  won't,"  he  concluded.  "Not 
yet.  But  if  I  have  to  —  !" 

Merrill's  trapped  manner  seemed  to  indicate  that, 
at  the  best,  he  was  storing  up  hatred.  But  for  the 
moment,  Rangy  overlooked  it. 

"What  do  you  think,  Ike?"  he  asked.  "You  want 
to  stay  in  here,  or  will  you  come  outside  when  I  lock 
this  coyote  in?" 

"I'm  thinking  I'll  stay  a  while  to  see  that  it  don't 
gnaw  its  way  out  too  soon." 

"Good  enough,"  Rangy  allowed;  and  even  as  he 
spoke  there  came  the  sound  of  steps  in  the  outer 


268  RANGY    PETE 

store,  followed  shortly  by  the  rapping  of  knuckles 
upon  the  inner  doorway. 

Merrill's  gloating  eyes  sharpened  swiftly.  Treach- 
ery, it  became  evident,  bulked  large  upon  the  code 
of  his  permissible  morals. 

"Ike,  you  step  to  the  door  and  see  who  it  is," 
Rangy  took  charge  swiftly.  "And,  Merrill,  not  a 
peep  out  of  you." 

But  a  voice  from  beyond  defeated  (Hollander's 
intent. 

The  voice  plainly  was  that  of  Stipples,  and  it 
was  peaceful  enough. 

"Invite  him  in,"  Rangy  appeared  to  make  a 
sudden  decision. 

Chance,  he  could  see,  had  thrust  Stipples  across 
his  pathway;  and  sooner  or  later  chance  must  reveal 
all  the  deeds  of  the  night.  Stipples  was  here  now, 
so  discretion  advised  that  he  be  housed  up  with  the 
infuriated  Dan  Merrill  until  he,  Rangy  Pete,  had 
once  more  vanished  into  the  chaparral.  For  Stipples, 
a  tool  of  Merrill's,  would  shortly  tell  all  he  knew, 
and  that  story  would  not  add  to  Rangy's  welcome 
in  Triple  Butte. 

The  thoughts  were  racing  swiftly  through  his 
brain  even  as  Collander  went  to  the  door,  opened  it 
cautiously  and  admitted  Sheriff  Stipples. 

At  first  sight  of  the  weapon  which  Rangy  leveled 
upon  him,  Stipples'  hands  flew  into  the  air. 

"Got  a  sort  of  a  quick  habit,  haven't  you,  Mr. 


RANGY    PETE  200 

Stipples?"  Rangy  drawled.  "And  what  might  be 
bringing  you  around  to  Ike's  so  early  in  the  morning? 
This  weren't  no  invitation  party,  Stipples,  'cause 
little  Dan  and  me  has  just  been  having  a  right  fit 
understanding.  Line  up  here  beside  Dan  while  I 
removes  yore  hardware.  Now,  peaceful  like,  what 
brings  you  here?" 

"I  was  looking  for  Merrill,"  Stipples  was  frowning, 
and  even  in  the  uncertainty  of  the  moment  Rangy 
fancied  that  there  was  none  of  the  old  fawning 
which  the  man  habitually  displayed  in  the  presence 
of  the  owner  of  the  Snaky  Y.  "Burk  Laxton  got 
back  early  this  morning,  and  he's  got  a  queer  story 
to  tell  about  you,  Merrill.  His  bank  has  put  him 
on  the  job,  and  he  says  you've  been  shipping  money 
into  Triple  Butte  behind  the  backs  of  the  banks. 
The  banks  out  east  say  you've  been  dodging  your 
debts  there  to  pay  them  here,  and  we  know  you've 
been  dodging  them  here.  And  now  we  find  you've 
been  shipping  in  money.  What's  it  mean,  Dan?" 

In  a  quick  flash  of  the  moment,  even  while 
Merrill's  face  went  white  under  the  bronze,  Rangy 
Pete  could  see  what  one  of  the  swift  answers  must 
be.  Merrill,  it  was  evident,  was  working  on  some 
rather  skilful  plan  to  pit  one  set  of  creditors  against 
the  other,  for  some  purpose  of  his  own,  while  he 
quietly  accumulated  a  mass  of  gold  at  the  expense 
of  both;  but  it  was  not  Merrill's  machinations  which 
interested  Rangy  just  now.  It  was,  instead,  the 


270      .  RANGY   PETE 

surety  that  his  part  in  the  disappearance  of  that 
ten  thousand  must  shortly  become  public  knowl- 
edge. 

So  it  was  for  him  to  act. 

"You" 'can  find  that  out  later,  Stipples,"  Rangy 
broke  in.  "Talk  it  over  after  I'm  gone.  But  now 
I  want  toicollect  a  reward  of  two  hundred  dollars  off 
little  Danny  here- 

"Two  hundred?"  Merrill  growled.    "What-for?"" 

"For  pointing  out  to  you  the  man  who  took  yore 
money  out  of  Ike's  store.  I'm  pointing  at  him  now, 
Danny." 

Rangy 's. finger,  it  was  evident  to  all,  was  directed 
towards  the  astonished  countenance  of  Sheriff 
Stipples.  The  latter's  lips  were  working  in  amaze- 
ment, while  Merrill  was  scowling  with  fresh  anger, 
and  he  was  leaning  forward  slightly  in  the  direction 
of  the  sheriff. 

-  "That  true,  Stipples?"  he  bellowed.  '"You  been 
double-crossing  me?" 

-•Stipples,  it  was  apparent,  was  too  much  astonished 
at  the  quick  turn  of  events  to  get  his  mental  balance. 

•"Don't  ask  him  that,  Danny,"  Rangy  inserted. 
"  That  ain't  no  proper  kind  of  a  question  to  ask  any 
man.  Ask  him  this  —  did  you,  Mr.  Sheriff  Stipples, 
take  out  of  this  room  a  box  of  evaporated  apples 
what  was  all  paint-smeared?" 

While  his  eyes  avoided  the  hostility  which  wa» 
leaping  from  Merrill's  countenance,  Stipples  gulped 


RANGY   PETE  271 

quickly  and  answered  what  seemed  to  be  a  simple 
question. 

"I  did,"  he  said,  "and  you  know,  Rangy,  that  — 

Rangy  held  up  a  swift  hand  in  protest. 

"Not  another  word,"  he  spoke  sharply.  "That 
ain't  necessary  at  all.  Now,  Danny,  you  see  I  been 
earning  that  two  hundred  dollars  reward,  and  I'll 
be  troubling  you  for  it  right  now." 

Slowly,  voicelessly,  while  his  baleful  eyes  still 
rested  upon  Stipples,  Merrill  reached  into  his  pocket 
and  pulled  forth  a  roll  of  bills. 

"You  count  off  two  hundred,  Bee,"  Rangy 
instructed  tensely;  and  when  Collander  had  accom- 
plished the  deed  he  returned  the  balance  to  Merrill. 

Cautiously,  with  infinite  relish,  Rangy  began  to 
back  slowly  towards  the  rear  door  of  the  storeroom, 
but  the  bulk  of  his  caution,  he  could  see,  was  wasted 
effort.  For  the  moment,  the  fevered  Merrill  had 
all  but  forgotten  his  presence.  Instead,  he  was 
glaring  at  the  sheriff,  and  the  frightened  Stipples 
was  facing  him  with  assumed  bravado,  but  with  a 
tinge  of  whiteness  about  the  cheeks. 

Rangy  half  closed  the  door,  then  he  opened  it 
again  quickly. 

"Ike,"  he  spoke  mildly,  "if  you  wanta  come  with 
me- 

Collander  gestured  impatiently. 

"Go  away,  Rangy,"  he  protested,  "I  wanta  see 
this." 


•272  RAXGY    PETE 

Rangy  closed  the  door  softly  and  locked  it  from 
the  outside;  and  as  he  did  so  he  could  hear  the 
angered  rumbling  of  Merrill's  voice. 

That  rumbling  had  to  do  entirely  with  the  mis- 
understanding which  had  grown  up  with  Sheriff 
Stipples;  but  since  it  must  be  purely  temporary, 
Rangy  did  not  wait  for  the  answer.  It  was  an  inter- 
lude which  could  be  employed  to  better  advantage. 
So  a  moment  later  he  was  walking  briskly  across 
the  open  stretch  of  plain  to  the  cluster  of  chaparral 
where  he  had  recently  left  the  burnt-yellow  cayusc. 

At  the  most  optimistic  reckoning,  he  knew,  it 
would  be  something  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
before  Merrill  and  Stipples  would  straighten  out 
their  tangle,  before  they  could  carve  their  way  out 
of  the  Collander  storeroom  and  raise  the  hue  and  cry. 


CHAPTER   X 

WITH  the  conflict  of  storming  thoughts  about  him, 
Rangy  Pete  rode  swiftly  along  the  trail  set  by  Miss 
Dick  the  bandit.  Bandit  she  was,  full  of  all  the 
wiles  and  trickeries  of  the  world. 

But  to  keep  his  mind  clear  of  that  torment,  and 
of  the  biting  memory  of  the  tool  she  had  made  of 
him,  Rangy  tried  to  think  of  that  pursuit  which 
must,  or  which  should  be  behind  him. 

It  was  an  hour  now  since  that  incident  in  Ike 
Collander's  storeroom,  and  as  yet  there  had  been  no 
braying  sounds  of  a  racing  army.  Yet  army  there 
must  be,  setting  out  sooner  or  later  upon  his  path, 
with  grim  lips,  and  with  determination  whipped 
into  their  faces  by  the  lashing  words  of  Merrill's 
anger. 

The  pursuit  of  that  army,  and  its  greed  to  inflict 
punishment,  must  be  just  as  inevitable  as  was  this 
other  thing  pressing  at  his  brain,  this  nagging, 
whipping  thought  which  mocked  and  taunted  him, 
which  whispered  that  Miss  Dick,  the  bandit,  had 
made  of  him  a  flexible  tool,  this  thought  with  its 
corollary  that  he  must  track  her  down,  even  as  he 
himself  would  be  tracked  down  by  the  Snaky  Y,  and 
that  when  he  found  her  —  when  he  found  her — what? 

878 


274  RANGY   PETE 

With  an  angry  gesture,  Rangy  shook  that  thought 
from  him.  His  mind,  he  knew,  should  be  upon  that 
army  which  even  now  must  be  forming  behind  him. 
For  Rangy  knew  the  interpretation  which,  even  at 
this  moment,  must  be  placed  upon  his  actions  back 
in  Triple  Butte.  He,  to  all  outward  appearances, 
and  so  far  as  they  knew  or  cared,  was  the  bandit 
who  had  stolen  that  ten  thousand  dollars  in  gold. 
He  henceforth  must  be  the  object  of  their  vengeful 
and  unflagging  pursuit.  And  beyond  him,  along 
this  same  trail  was  Miss  Dick! 

Again  he  shook  his  head  angrily.  Why  must  his 
thoughts  be  constantly  straying  back  to  her,  to  the 
girl  who  had  mocked  him,  who  had  made  of  him  a 
plaything  which  she  had  now  cast  aside?  He  would 
not  think  of  her. 

Back  in  Triple  Butte  that  army  would  be  forming. 
There  had  been  delay,  and  there  doubtless  would 
be  more,  because  the  bulk  of  the  Snaky  Y  punchers 
had  ridden  into  the  south  through  the  night,  seeking 
to  block  the  trails  which  he  had  not  followed.  So 
Merrill  must  wait  until  their  return.  Perhaps  even, 
no  one  had  actually  seen  his  retreat  from  the  Col- 
lander  store,  and  time  must  be  lost  in  picking  up 
his  trail.  An  hour  gained,  perhaps  two,  or  three, 
and  that  would  help  to  find  Miss  Dick  and  warn  her 
of  the  advancing  army. 

Once  more  Rangy  struggled  with  his  thoughts. 
They  were  such  wilfully  unconscious  things,  flitting 


RANGY    TETE  275 

back  to  the  girl  so  constantly;  and  even  now  he  had 
found  that  they  were  still  trying  to  shield  her.  That, 
at  least,  was  a  thing  which  he  could  overcome. 

Still,  looking  at  it  from  his  own  confused  basis, 
he  really  could  not  take  any  chances  just  yet  that 
Miss  Dick  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Snaky  Y 
posse.  There  was  his  own  attitude  towards  her 
which  was  as  yet  undetermined,  and  he  must  have 
time  to  see  that  it  became  properly  formed.  Back 
of  it  was  the  vague  idea  of  punishment;  but  just 
what  form  that  punishment  should  take  was  a  matter 
which  the  turmoil  of  his  brain  had  not  yet  worked 
out. 

Punishment  of  some  form  there  must  be.  For  had 
she  not  taken  him  and  played  upon  the  thin  strain 
of  good  within  him?  Had  she  not  sought  out  the 
few  fragments  of  his  better  nature  and  shaped  them 
to  her  own  purpose?  And  that  was  a  sin  which 
no  woman  should  be  permitted  to  work  upon 
man. 

Rangy's  lips  grew  firmer  and  straighter.  It  was 
better  now  to  give  full  sway  to  those  turbulent 
thoughts  which  insisted  upon  molding  the  future 
of  Miss  Dick. 

It  was  more  calming  to  the  brain  to  read  into  the 
days  yet  to  come,  and  to  find  there  the  conviction 
that  he  must  follow  the  girl  until  he  found  her,  and 
that  when  he  found  her  he  must  teach  to  her  the 
inalienable  fact  that  the  thin  strains  of  good  in  man 


RANGY    PETE 


are  too  rare,  too  sacred,  to  become  the  toys  of  a 
woman's  passing  whim. 

That  was  a  clear  and  distinct  purpose  resolving 
itself  out  of  the  whirl  of  tormenting  thoughts,  and 
when  it  came  and  took  definite  shape  before  his  brain 
it  seemed  to  brush  aside  all  those  gibbering  shadows 
which  had  been  nagging  him. 

So,  it  was  all  clear  now.  The  one  definite  aim  of 
life  must  be  to  find  Miss  Dick  and  to  teach  to  her 
this  code  of  man! 

How  calm  and  reasoning  his  brain  became  under 
the  soothing  of  that  resolve  !  All  things  else,  he  could 
see  now,  must  be  submerged  to  that  single  end. 
That  meant  that  he  must  not,  he  dare  not,  take  any 
chances  that  the  punchers  of  the  Snaky  Y  would 
find  Miss  Dick  before  he  came  up  with  her.  It  meant 
that  he  must  not  follow  so  openly  the  trail  she  had 
ridden  in  the  night.  Further,  if  need  be,  it  implied 
that  he  must  leave  her  trail,  must  draw  aside  the 
pursuit  of  the  Snaky  Y  in  order  to  shield  her  for  his 
own  punishment. 

Rangy  Pete  drew  the  burnt-yellow  cayuse  to  a 
sudden  halt  at  the  edge  of  a  clump  of  chaparral. 
Not  a  sound  in  the  world  about  him,  except  the  vague 
murmurings  of  the  ranges.  Not  a  living  thing  within 
the  limits  of  his  eye.  The  firm  resolve  was  upon  him. 

At  the  next  thin  point  in  Miss  Dick's  trail,  he 
would  blind  it  so  that  the  hurrying  posse  would 
swing  into  the  pursuit  of  him  alone,  and  then,  some 


RANGY    PETE  277 

time  later  in  the  great  future,  when  he  had  shaken 
aside  the  anger  of  Dan  Merrill  and  the  Snaky  Y,  he 
would  find  the  girl,  and  he  would  teach  her  that 
code  of  man. 

It  was  more  satisfying  thus  to  see  before  him  a 
surer  future,  even  though  it  doubtless  did  mean 
riding  into  that  tangled  land  of  hills  and  forests 
beyond  the  Pass,  into  the  very  home  of  the  Der- 
yishers.  But  if  that  were  needed,  it  would  be  all 
the  keener  teaching  to  the  girl  who  had  tricked  him 
so  calmly.  She  had  tricked  him.  And  he  had 
thought,  once  or  twice,  that  there  had  been  a  slight 
softening  in  her  eyes  when  he  turned  about  quickly 
and  surprised  her  looking  at  him.  Folly.  Surprised 
her?  Rangy  Pete  laughed  aloud.  Studied,  vampirish 
glances,  that  was  all.  A  cold-blooded  harpy  who 
flocked  with  bandits! 

Slowly,  under  the  emotion  of  the  moment,  his 
hands  ran  down  the  breast  of  his  khaki  shirt,  and 
beneath  his  fingers  there  was  the  faint  crumpling  of 
paper.  The  feel  of  that  brought  more  laughter  to 
his  lips.  Miss  Dick's  last  message  to  him.  Mockery 
again,  he  presumed.  Swiftly  he  drew  out  the  envel- 
ope and  slit  it  open.  There,  before  his  eyes,  a  scrawled 
announcement,  like  an  old-time  business  card: 

Miss  Dick,  Bandit, 

Plain  Highwaymanry  Neatly  Done. 

Terms  Reasonable.    Fine  Openings  for  Recruits. 

Appointments,  Thursdays,  The  Crags,  South  Butte. 


278  RANGY    PETE 

Taunting  him,  this  time!  Rangy  Pete  crushed 
the  paper  in  his  fingers;  then  he  tore  it  into  tiny 
fragments  and  scattered  it  into  the  air. 

Mocking  him,  was  she,  off  there  from  the  strong- 
hold of  the  hills?  And  never  yet  had  man  or  woman 
mocked  Rangy  Pete  without  finding  a  swift  answer 
to  their  challenge.  The  future  was  growing  clear 
with  the  passing  of  the  minutes.  For  this  was 
Thursday,  and  tonight  he  would  meet  her  at  The 
Crags,  though  the  whole  army  of  the  Snaky  Y  were 
at  his  heels. 

It  was  clearer  now  than  ever  before.  All  through 
the  day  he  could  lay  down  a  tangled  course  for  the 
riders  of  the  Snaky  Y  to  follow,  then,  when  the 
thickening  of  night  threw  its  shield  about  him,  he 
could  ride  straight  for  the  Crags,  that  catacomb 
land  of  the  south  butte  standing  out  there  premier 
of  the  jagged  sentinels  which  had  given  to  Triple 
Butte  its  name. 

With  this  purpose  upon  him,  Rangy  rode  through 
the  day,  and  from  time  to  time  as  he  looked  over  his 
shoulder  upon  the  higher  levels,  he  could  see  the 
churned-up  dust  marking  the  far  skyline.  At  sight 
of  that  he  always  laughed. 

Dust  upon  the  skyline!  The  strange  mockery  of 
that!  How  many  times  had  he  not  ridden  in  i  posse 
which  stirred  up  the  dust  of  the  plains  just  as  those 
riders  behind  him  were  doing  now?  And  now  it 
was  himself  out  in  front,  with  others  thirsting  for 


RANGY    PETE  279 

his  punishment.  Then,  when  he  laughed,  he  rode  on; 
for  there  was  a  new  flame  in  his  blood. 

"Fine  opening  for  recruits,"  Miss  Dick  had  written. 

Miss  Dick,  the  blue-eyed  round-cheeked  rider, 
with  the  wistful  glances  which  cut  through  the  crust 
of  life  and  somehow  found  lodgment  in  the  seat  of 
emotion;  Miss  Dick  the  lure,  the  vampire  who 
dragged  men  in  and  made  bandits  of  them,  and  then, 
no  doubt,  threw  them  aside  for  new  victims!  The 
flame  grew  brighter  in  Range's  cheeks.  Thank 
God  he  had  been  warned  against  that! 

Before  him  now,  in  the  westering  sky,  the  sun 
slipping  down  towards  the  tips  of  the  buttes.  The 
dull,  gray  spires  of  butte  land  standing  before  him 
in  solemn  majesty,  with  their  dun  ranks  bleak  and 
frowning  and  uninviting.  Cold  and  hard  and  drab 
off  there,  in  the  dying  glare  of  the  sun.  Cold,  with 
all  the  cruelty  of  nature  whose  laws  are  inflexible 
and  unforgiving.  Cold  as  the  heart  of  a  woman! 

What  else  could  he  have  expected  from  Miss  Dick, 
or  from  any  woman  nurtured  upon  the  iron  of  the 
hills?  An  iron  life  off  there  in  the  drab  buttes,  iron 
without  and  iron  within  —  a  constant  battle  with 
the  reign  of  nature  and  the  will  of  the  plainsmen! 

If  his  life  had  been  a  persistent  bowing  before  the 
law  of  brute  survival,  what  must  have  been  the  life 
of  Miss  Dick?  Folly!  Weakness!  Why  think  of  that? 

Red  and  hazy,  the  sun  dropped  through  the  film 
of  the  upper  horizon,  slipped  down  behind  the  buttes, 


RANGY    PETE 


and  the  long,  thickening  fingers  of  the  shadows  crept 
out  towards  Rangy  Pete.  It  was  time  to  ride 
directly  for  the  Crags. 

Rangy  threaded  his  way  through  a  tortuous  defile, 
followed  the  draw  while  it  grew  narrower  and 
steeper,  and  toiled  up  a  slope  until  it  mounted  a 
summit  of  rock.  At  the  summit,  he  paused  to  look 
backward  through  the  encroaching  shadows.  It  was 
lighter  off  there  on  the  tumbling  plains,  for  the 
slanting  sun  still  tilted  over  the  buttes  and  painted 
pale  patterns  over  the  chaparral.  Off  there,  in  the 
far  space,  was  a  purple  haze  sitting  just  above  the 
checkered  patchwork  of  the  ranges. 

In  that  film  of  purple  haze  was  a  torn  gap  of 
fleecy  gray,  which  fluttered  and  died  and  fluttered 
again.  It  rose  and  fell  like  folds  of  smoke  tossed 
about  in  the  breeze;  but  thin  and  vaporish  as  it 
was,  it  told  its  own  story  to  Rangy  Pete. 

"Yellow  boy,  there's  a  neat  army  back  there," 
he  addressed  the  patient  cayuse,  "but  we  lost  them 
a  bit  this  afternoon.  I'm  guessing  now  that  we  have 
two  hours  the  start  of  them,  and  that  should  be 
enough  to  see  —  the  vampire  up  here  at  the  Crags." 

For  a  moment  he  watched  the  fluttering  of  that 
film  cloud,  then  he  turned  abruptly  and  plunged 
into  the  shadows  of  butte  land.  A  strange  race  this 
he  was  running,  with  the  pursuers  at  his  heels,  and 
he  at  the  heels  of  another  pursued! 

Through  the  butte  land  draw  he  raced,  up  rock- 


RANGY    PETE  281 

strewn  summits,  through  shadow-tinted  valleys, 
climbing  ever  to  an  upper  level,  piercing  always 
towards  the  heart  of  that  cave-dotted  southern  butte 
which  had  earned  the  name  of  The  Crags.  It  was  a 
simple  course  he  was  following,  without  the  tanglings 
of  the  plains  to  confuse  the  pursuers:  and  Rangy 
Pete  had  no  hope  that  the  army  of  the  Snaky  Y 
would  lose  the  trail  out  there  upon  the  ranges  before 
they  plunged  into  the  twilight  of  butte  land 

Rangy  had  no  hope  that  he  could  shake  off  the 
pursuers;  rather,  he  gave  them  barely  a  thought  at 
all;  for  there  was  whirling  through  his  brain  the 
knowledge  that  off  here,  a  few  more  miles  through 
the  shadows,  was  Miss  Dick  the  highwayman. 

At  one  moment  a  qualm  of  doubt  touched  him, 
and  there  dashed  through  his  brain  the  memory 
that  the  girl  had  not  said  whether  she  would  be 
alone  or  accompanied  by  a  band  from  the  Dervish  ers. 
And  if  the  latter  were  the  case,  who  could  say  what 
strange  battle  he  might  have  to  fight  out  for  freedom, 
That  thought  drew  him  to  a  slower  pace,  as  he  con- 
templated the  embarrassment  of  being  caught 
between  the  Dervishers  and  the  Snaky  Y;  then 
shortly  he  spurred  back  to  his  old  speed.  Miss  Dick 
would  be  awaiting  him  alone,  off  there  at  the  edge 
of  the  valley  which  marked  the  foot  of  the  Crags. 

Yet  when  finally  the  burnt-yellow  cayuse  stepped 
out  into  the  dim  shadow  land  of  the  valley,  Rangy* 
slipped  from  its  back  cautiously,  and  he  loosened 


€8£  RANGY    PETE 

one  six-gun  in  its  holster.  In  this  manner  he  slipped 
forward,  with  infinite  caution,  until  he  came  to  the 
sheer  face  of  the  cliffs.  He  used  the  same  deliberate 
care,  with  his  senses  attuned  for  the  minutest  of 
sound  or  message,  as  he  began  to  thread  the  darkened 
defile  between  the  cliffs  which  marked  the  boulder- 
strewn  passageway  into  the  draw  beyond.  Silence 
everywhere,  silence  eerie  and  unnerving,  which  but 
accentuated  his  consciousness  that  all  about  him 
were  the  staring  eyes  of  those  caves  of  crag  land, 
which  might  or  might  not  at  this  instant  be  shielding 
the  eyes  of  Dervishers. 

Hostile  silence  in  the  air  about!  Dun  and  dreary 
walls  of  cliffs  climbing  ever  upward  until  their  tips 
were  blended  with  the  sky  above.  A  lonely  hole, 
this,  even  in  the  glare  of  day.  A  place  where  tragedy 
might  reign,  and  man  be  none  the  wiser! 

Silence  clinging  about  him  with  its  hostile  menace! 
Not  even  the  flapping  wings  of  night-birds,  or  the 
husking  call  of  mating  creatures.  Silence,  dun,  and 
black  and  dreary! 

Thank  goodness,  he  was  coming  to  the  end  of  this 
night-smeared  defile.  The  cliffs  were  widening  out. 
It  was  growing  brighter  out  here,  and  sooner  or 
later,  with  this  blackness  shaken  from  him,  there 
would  be  the  pale  paintings  of  the  rising  moon. 

Rangy  stepped  forward  more  quickly,  more  con- 
fidently. Then  abruptly  he  paused,  as  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  nearby  presence^was  carried  to  him  through 


RANGY    PETE  283 

the  lessening  dark.  He  looked  about  swiftly,  but 
saw  nothing.  Then  the  coldness  of  a  human  voice 
reached  his  ears. 

"You're  covered,  young  man,  whoever  you  are. 
The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  start  reaching  for 
the  stars.  It's  the  most  healthy  thing  I  know 
of." 

It  was  only  the  continued  sound  of  the  voice  which 
told  Rangy  Pete  where  the  speaker  stood,  but  once 
heard,  that  voice  was  such  a  simple  thing  to  follow. 
The  speaker  could  be  nothing  else  but  that  dark 
lump  whicli  looked  like  an  excrescence  of  rock  upon 
the  boulder  in  front  of  him.  Rangy 's  lips  parted 
grimly  through  the  darkness.  It  would  be  such  an 
easy  thing,  that  sprawling  fall  of  his  with  its  shot 
from  the  ground.  But  that  was  impossible,  for  the 
voice  was  the  voice  of  Miss  Dick! 

And  as  yet  he  had  not  determined  his  attitude 
towards  her,  except  that  it  must  be  one  of  punish- 
ment, one  of  teaching  her  that  old  code  of  mankind. 
At  the  best,  it  must  be  hostility. 

"You  got  rider's  cramp,"  the  cold  voice  went  on, 
"or  why  ain't  you  putting  them  up?" 

Rangy  raised  his  hands  slowly  into  the  air. 

"I  shore  ain't  got  no  objections  to  reaching,  if 
that'll  rest  yore  eyes  any,"  Rangy  replied;  then 
broke  off  at  the  sound  of  a  low  chuckle  of 
laughter. 

So  that  was  to  be  the  girl's  attitude?    Laughter, 


2S4  RANGY    PETE 

friendship,  when  but  a  few  short  hours  ago  she  had 
tricked  him  into  stealing  for  her  some  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  gold!  She  had  made  of  him  this  outcast 
which  he  had  become;  yet  the  sound  of  her  subdued 
laughter  was  still  ringing  through  his  brain. 

"So  it's  you,  Rangy  Pete?"  the  girl  resumed,  in 
a  much  altered  tone.  "I  thought  it  might  be,  but 
one  can  never  afford  to  take  chances  in  the  buttrs. 
You  can  take  them  down." 

Rangy's  hands  continued  to  waver  in  the  air. 

"I  said  you  could  take  them  down,"  the  girl 
reminded. 

"Shore  I  heard  you  the  first  time,"  Rangy 
'returned,  quite  coldly.  "If  it's  all  the  same  to  you, 
I'll  be  leaving  them  up." 

"Of  all  the  absurd  things!"  Miss  Dick  laughed 
more  freely.  "Of  course,  if  you  happen  to  have  a  bet 
with  yourself,  leave  them  there." 

"It  ain't  absurd,  an'  it  ain't  no  bet,"  Rangy 
informed,  with  the  same  degree  of  coldness.  "You 
got  the  drop  on  me,  Miss  Dick,  an'  I  ain't  gonna 
take  no  advantage  of  you." 

This  time  the  girl  did  not  answer  directly.  Some- 
thing strange  in  Rangy's  manner,  or  in  his  words, 
appeared  to  penetrate  the  surface  situation  and 
give  her  cause  for  thought.  For  a  full  minute  Rangy 
was  conscious  that  Miss  Dick  was  attempting  to 
study  him  through  the  darkness,  and  he  noticed 
that  when  she  spoke  again  her  voice  was  cool  and 


RANGY    PETE  285 

even,  with  no  suggestion  of  its  earlier  laughter. 
For  an  instant  that  piqued  him.  He  had  liked  that 
laughter  in  her  voice,  laughter  which  had  come  from 
her  gladness  hi  his  presence.  But  no.  He  was  for- 
getting for  the  moment  that  she  was  the  lure  beckon- 
ing him  to  the  ranks  of  the  Dervishers.  He  must 
forget,  as  well,  that  he  had  ever  liked  the  sound  of 
her  voice  or  the  flash  of  her  eyes. 

"I  don't  think  I  understand  what  you  mean," 
Miss  Dick  returned,  as  though  measuring  her  words. 
"What  advantage  could  you  possibly  take  of  me 
under  the  circumstances?" 

Rangy  Pete  abruptly  discovered  that  the  situation 
was  much  more  difficult  than  he  had  imagined  it 
could  ever  be. 

"I  could  pretend  to  be  friendly,"  he  replied  with 
an  effort  which  was  not  apparent  in  his  tones. 

"Pretend?"  the  girl  echoed  in  some  surprise,  and 
it  was  still  evident  to  Rangy  that  she  did  not  yet 
understand;  then,  as  though  she  abruptly  gathered 
the  significance  of  his  words,  she  exclaimed,  "And 
aren't  you  friendly?" 

The  direct  challenge  was  hardly  what  Rangy  had 
anticipated.  He  would  have  liked  to  avoid  the 
answer,  and  in  his  anxiety  to  ferret  out  the  least 
damaging  reply  he  dropped  his  hands  to  his  side 
thoughtlessly.  Miss  Dick  evidently  overlooked  the 
act,  for  she  still  seemed  to  be  listening  expectantly 
for  his  answer. 


286  RANGY    PETE 

"Didn't  you  pretend  this  morning  you  were  so 
friendly  you  just  had  to  see  me  again?''  the  girl 
prompted. 

"This  mornin'  ain't  now,  an'  they's  a  hull  lot  of 
things  can  happen  in  a  few  hours,"  Rangy  returned 
slowly.  "They's  some  things  comes  in  afore  friend- 
ship." 

Through  the  uncertain  silence  which  followed, 
Rangy  Pete's  gaze  did  not  leave  that  dark  smudge 
which  was  the  outline  of  Miss  Dick.  He  could  not 
tell  what  strange  phase  of  thought  might  be  con- 
trolling the  mind  of  the  girl,  and  in  this  moment 
he  discovered  that  he  knew  nothing  whatever  of 
the  code  which  must  rule  the  life  of  a  woman  reared 
and  hardened  by  the  brigandage  of  the  Dervishers. 
She  was  struggling,  he  fancied,  to  understand  him; 
and  when  she  did  understand,  the  answer  might 
come  sharp  and  swift.  For  she  was  cold  and  hard 
as  the  buttes  themselves.  And  if,  when  the  mask  of 
his  purpose  was  thrown  aside  —  if,  when  she  read 
the  motive  of  his  presence,  she  should  attempt 
violence  —  what  then? 

Rangy  Pete's  fingers,  dangling  at  his  sides,  closed 
and  unclosed  firmly.  If  that  dark  outline  upon  the 
rocks  beyond  were  but  a  man,  the  answer  would 
be  simple.  But  a  woman?  What  had  the  code  of 
the  plains  taught  him  would  be  the  duty  of  a  man, 
should  a  woman  strike,  wantonly?  To  strike  back? 
To  shoot  first?  That  would  be  so  simple.  For  Rangy 


RANGY    PETE  287 

knew  there  never  yet  was  a  woman  who  could  be  so 
swift  on  the  draw  as  he. 

It  was  not  a  matter  of  speed,  but  of  code.  Should 
any  man  stand  calmly  still  while  a  woman  shot 
him  down  in  cold  blood?  Rangy 's  fingers  closed 
and  unclosed  again.  Never,  in  all  the  stories  of  the 
ranges  which  had  reached  his  ears,  had  there  been 
a  situation  just  like  this.  Never,  perhaps,  had  there 
been  a  case  just  like  his  from  beginning  to  end. 
Assuredly,  man  had  not  gone  out  before  to  teach 
to  woman  the  lesson  which  he  had  thought  to  teach 
to  Miss  Dick.  And  he  had  bungled  it.  Because  of 
that  he  was  standing  now,  watching  for  the  faintest 
move  of  her  hands,  watching  and  wondering  what, 
the  girl  would  do  when  the  force  of  his  message 
reached  her  brain. 

As  he  watched,  he  became  conscious  that  the 
intensity  of  darkness  was  giving  place  to  a  softening 
glow  of  silver  peering  in  upon  them  from  above  the 
rims  of  the  buttes.  It  was  a  glow  which  threw  out 
in  clearer  line  the  form  of  the  girl  upon  the  rock, 
and  which  must  shortly  bathe  this  whole  valley 
with  its  radiance.  But  the  girl's  features  were  still 
hidden. 

"If  you  do  not  come  in  friendship,  there  can  be 
only  one  way  you  have  come,"  the  girl  spoke  sud- 
denly, with  a  questioning  note  in  her  voice.  There 
was,  as  well,  a  youthful  surprise  in  her  tones,  as 
though  some  new  and  unexpected  situation  had  been 


288  RANGY    PETE 

thrust  upon  her.  "If  you  do  not  come  in  friendship, 
you  must  come  as  an  enemy,"  she  continued  more 
slowly,  as  one  who  reasoned  aloud,  "and  if  you 
come  as  an  enemy,  you  —  you  -  "  Miss  Dick  con- 
trolled her  emotions  with  a  palpable  effort,  "you 
tricked  me  back  there  in  the  chaparral  this  morning. 
You  talked  your  silly  words,  and  I  believed  you  - 

"No,  'twa'n't  that,"  Rangy  Pete  interrupted, 
with  his  gaze  still  resting  upon  the  girl's  motionless 
hands.  "Yer  lookin*  in  the  right  direction,  but 
they's  a  cloud  in  front  of  you.  Yer  puttin'  it  kinda 
strong  when  you  got  me  corralled  with  yore  enemies, 
an'  when  yer  talkin'  about  playin'  tricks,  they's 
folks  not  so  far  from  here  what'd  make  me  look  like 
a  amatoor.  Beggin'  yore  pardon,  Miss,  but  I  jest 
been  moochin*  out  here  to  tell  you  that  you  roped 
me  slicker'n  I  ever  been  roped  before.  They's  some 
folks  what'd  say  that  Rangy  Pete  is  rope  shy;  but, 
Miss,  you  shore  roped  me  good  and  plenty.  An' 
now  I'm  wantin'  to  tell  you  it  ain't  no  kind  of  a 
thing  for  a  lady  to  do." 

"You  seemed  to  approve  of  me  quite  early  this 
morning,"  Miss  Dick  replied  in  a  voice  from  which 
all  trace  of  friendship  had  vanished,  ^but  that,  I 
suppose,  was  merely  pretence,  to  help  you  find  out 
something  about  me  — 

"It  was  before  I  knew  much  about  you,"  Rangy 
broke  in.  "Before  I  found  out  youse  one  of  the 
slickest  persons  what  ever  descended  upon  Triple 


RANGY   PETE  289 

Butte.  I'm  wantin',  Miss,  to  let  you  know  that  I 
recognizes  good  work  when  I  sees  it.  I  mean  slick 
work.  But  now  that  I've  took  off  my  hat  to  yore 
smooth  work,  Miss,  I'm  lettin'  you  know  that  I'm 
here  to  tell  you  it  can't  be  done." 

Miss  Dick  chose  that  moment  to  laugh  easily. 

"Queer,  isn't  it,"  she  remarked,  "with  all  the 
words  there  are  in  the  English  language,  you  can't 
find  enough  to  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

Laughing  at  him  now,  was  she?  Before,  she  had 
mocked  him,  had  thought  to  toy  with  his  emotions. 

"They  ain't  no  trouble,  Miss,  finding  the  word 
what  fits  you,"  Rangy  returned,  "but  I'm  kinda 
hesitatin'  to  use  it.  If  I  said  it  to  a  man,  they'd  shore 
be  a  bit  of  shootin'  right  away,  an'  as  I  don't  wanta 
have  to  shoot  you  up,  Miss,  I'm  a  hangin'  onto  my 
words  fer  all  I'm  worth.  They's  some  things  what 
a  fellow  likes  to  say  without  usin'  the  words,  so, 
Miss,  if  you'll  sorta  get  it  into  yore  head  what  I'm 
wantin'  to  say,  an'  if  you'll  roll  it  about  there  a  bit 
at  a  time  it  won't  hurt  so  bad  as  though  I's  to  tell 
you  right  out  loud,  all  to  once,  that  youse  the 
smoothest,  slickest  lady  high-flyer  I  ever  run  up 
against." 

Rangy  Pete,  watching  closely  through  the  growing 
moon  gleam,  saw  that  the  girl's  fingers  clenched  and 
unclenched  swiftly.  Then  she  sat  quite  still,  as  she 
studied  him  with  a  slow,  cold,  methodical  care. 
Even  through  the  film  of  the  shadowy  moonlight 


RANGY   PETE 


which  concealed  the  details  of  her  features  and 
cloaked  her  emotions,  he  could  tell  that  Miss  Dick 
was  perfectly  calm.  In  time,  he  found  himself 
wishing  that  she  had  been  less  cairn,  wishing  that 
the  iron  of  the  hills  had  not  robbed  her  of  the  tem- 
pestuous passions  which  should  have  been  hers, 
wishing  for  the  swift  action  of  an  angered  woman 
rather  than  this  cold  silent  play  of  a  cautious  man. 
In  the  end,  he  found  himself  glad  at  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  though  that  voice  was  calm  and  unemo- 
tional as  the  hills  about. 

"I  could  accept  that  as  a  compliment,  if  I  chose," 
the  girl's  voice  was  saying,  "or  as  commendation, 
or  as  a  rebuke,  or  perhaps  even  as  punishment.  It 
depends  entirely  upon  the  personal  viewpoint.  There 
have  been  times,  Mr.  Rangy  Pete,  when  a  remark 
like  that,  coming  from  a  plainsman,  would  have 
made  me  tilt  my  head  a  little  higher  in  the  air;  but 
somehow  you  seem  different.  Just  why,  Rangy  Pete, 
have  you  taken  advantage  of  the  note  I  gave  you 
to  come  over  here  and  pick  a  quarrel  with  me?" 

Rangy  started  to  laugh;  then  he  stopped  abruptly. 
Could  it  be  possible,  after  all,  that  Miss  Dick  did 
not  appreciate  the  seriousness  of  her  conduct?  Her 
words  flowed  freer  and  smoother  than  anything 
he  had  ever  heard;  there  was  about  her  a  polish 
and  culture  which  he  had  never  known  before;  yet, 
there  was,  as  well,  that  iron  of  the  buttes  which 
was  her  mothering. 


RANGY    PETE  291 

'  'Cause  of  the  way  you  roped  me  into  helpin' 
you  steal  that  ten  thousand  dollars  in  gold.  I  gotta 
admit  - 

Miss  Dick  laughed  with  surprising  suddenness. 
There  was  back  of  her  laugh  a  gladness,  which 
seemed  to  say  that  their  threatened  misunderstand- 
ing had  been  founded  upon  such  a  trivial  thing,  and 
that  now  it  was  all  swept  aside.  Miss  Dick  continued 
to  laugh,  in  soft,  low  notes  which  fell  as  harmony 
upon  the  growing  moonlight;  and  Rangy  Pete, 
listening  through  their  melody,  found  hi  them  no 
mockery. 

For  an  instant  Rangy's  left  hand  strayed  up  and 
toyed  with  the  tip  of  his  left  ear. 

"So  you  admit  it  was  good  work,  Mr.  Rangy 
Pete,"  she  replied,  at  length.  "I  thought  you  would, 
when  you  got  a  good  look  at  it.  But  what  in  the 
world  are  you  doing  up  there  on  your  high  horse? 
It  wasn't  your  money.  You  haven't  lost  anything 
by  it.  Besides,  you  have  my  thanks,  Mr.  Pete,  for 
you  were  really  helpful.  Except  for  you,  I  hardly 
believe  it  could  have  been  done." 

The  girl  broke  off  with  another  low  ripple  of 
laughter,  and  Rangy  Pete  continued  to  stare  through 
the  moongleam.  He  stared  until  in  time  the  growing 
moonlight  threw  the  girl's  countenance  out  in  dull 
relief  against  the  darkness  of  the  surrounding  rocks, 
until  her  glance,  meeting  his  across  the  thinning 
film  of  night,  came  to  him  with  a  frankness  and 


29*  RANGY    PETE 

confidence,  with  a  mingling  touch  of  humor,  which 
he  could  not  understand. 

"Why  don't  you  say  something,  and  not  stand 
there  like  you'd  lost  your  tongue?"  Miss  Dick 
demanded,  with  a  trace  of  peevishness  in  her 
manner 

Still  Rangy  Pete  did  not  answer.  The  revelation 
which  the  girl's  manner  seemed  to  bring  to  him  was 
such  an  astonishing  one.  It  was  almost  unthinkable 
that  Miss  Dick  should  be  what  she  appeared  to  be 
at  this  moment,  that  she  could  be  all  guilelessness 
and  innocence,  seeing  no  wrong  in  her  actions,  that 
she  should  be  eager  for  the  faint  praise  which  he  had 
spoken,  that  she  could  believe  that  her  acts  should 
stand  out  to  be  judged  solely  upon  the  success  they 
had  won. 

"Don't  you  understand,  Mr.  Pete,"  the  girl 
resumed  more  coldly,  "that  I  am  not  in  the  habit 
of  thanking  men.  Yet  I  have  thanked  you,  and  you 
only  stand  there  and  stare." 

Rangy  Pete  laughed  abruptly,  and  felt  more  at 
his  ease. 

Vampirish,  and  nothing  more.  This  innocence  of 
all  wrong-doing  was  nothing  more  than  a  foolish 
mask  which  she  had  drawn  over  her  past  to  blind 
his  senses  and  to  trick  him  as  she  had  tricked  him 
before. 

"  You're  doing  it  fairish  well,  Miss  Dick,  you  shore 
are,  but  they's  no  use  tryin'  to  put  it  over  me  again. 


RANGY    PETE  293 

I  shore  am  rope  shy  this  time,  and  yore  innocent 
little  gurglin'  laughter  ain't  gonna  get  you  nowhere 
after  this.  They's  no  use  tryin'  to  pull  the  wool 
over  this  boy's  eyes  any  longer.  You  used  him  once 
to  do  the  fat  pickin'  for  you,  an'  you  did'n  care,  did 
you,  if  it  made  him  a  thief  or  a  crook,  or  what  it 
-made  of  him?  Perhaps  yer  kinda  forgettin'  that  all 
some  folks  back  in  Triple  Butte  has  got  to  do  is  use 
their  head,  an'  then  they'll  go  around  sayin'  that 
Rangy  Pete's  the  person  what  stole  that  ten  thou- 
sand. Miss,  they's  a  hull  lot  of  things  what  friends 
an'  some  others  can  say  about  me,  but  they  can't 
say  nohow  that  I've  ever  been  a  thief,  and,  Miss, 
I  don't  reckon  ever  to  give  them  the  chance.  I  don't 
know  if  you  get  what  I'm  a  driftin'  at,  but  if  you'll 
shake  them  ideas  around  in  yore  head  a  bit  you'll 
see  that  they  ain't  no  use  of  you  thinkin'  you're 
going  to  get  away  with  that  ten  thousand." 

All  the  laughter  left  Miss  Dick's  features,  and  her 
eyes  grew  wide  and  sober  through  the  moonlight. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  the  delayed  flash  of 
passion  was  creeping  to  her  brain,  then,  as  though 
with  an  effort,  she  became  calm  again. 

•"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  she 
demanded. 

"That  depends  a  hull  lot  on  you,  Miss,"  Rangy 
returned  slowly.  "Back  there  in  Triple  Butte,  when 
certain  things  leaks  out,  they've  got  me  branded 
as  a  crook.  I  ain't  no  crook,  an'  I  gotta  prove  it; 


294  RANGY    PETE 

that's  all  they  is  to  it.  I  been  sorta  thinkin'  that 
the  best  way  to  show  'em  I  ain't  the  crook  is  to 
take  the  real  crook  to  them." 

Rangy  Pete  watched  the  girl's  hands  for  some 
swift  action,  but  for  a  minute  or  more  Miss  Dick 
barely  moved.  She  leaned  forward  a  trifle,  and  IKT 
eyes  grew  wider,  as  though  some  new  phase  of  the 
world  were  being  opened  before  her  wondering 
mind;  but  beyond  that  there  was  nothing  to  betray 
the  girl's  real  mood. 

Rangy  laughed  softly  to  himself.  It  was  all  acling 
again,  acting  the  pose  of  the  innocent. 

"Is  it,  then,  such  a  terrible  thing  to  be  a  crook?' 
Miss  Dick  asked  abruptly. 

"I'm  thinkin'  I  already  told  you  they  ain't  no 
use  trying  that  girlish,  giggly  stuff  any  more.  You 
tried  to  make  a  crook  out  of  me,  Miss  Dick,  by 
takin'  advantage  of  a  sort  of  weak  spot  in  me,  an' 
then  you  hinted  in  that  little  letter  that  you'd  make 
a  recruit  out  of  me  and  put  me  on  with  the  Der- 
vishers  - 

"You  are  the  first  man  who  ever  got  such  a 
chance,  from  me,"  the  girl  interrupted,  but  Rangy 
Pete  went  on,  unheeding. 

"I'm  not  sayin'  but  what  I  thank  you  for  the 
compliment,  Miss,  but  they's  only  one  way  I 
can  show  you  I  ain't  all  them  things  you  took  me 
for,  an'  that's  to  take  you  back  to  Triple  Butte  and 
hand  you  over  to  Mr.  Stipples." 


RANGY    PETE  295 

The  girl's  right  hand  moved  swiftly,  but  Rangy 
Pete's  voice,  calm  and  emotionless,  went  on. 

"You  see,  Miss,  while  I  been  standin'  here  I  got 
this  whole  thing  sized  up.  That's  why  you're  a 
lookin'  into  my  six-gun  right  now.  I'm  tellin'  you, 
Miss  Dick,  I  don't  wanta  hafta  spoil  them  purty 
fingers  of  yours,  but  if  you  start  any  monkey-work 
I'll  have  to  shoot  one  of  them  into  the  air.  You 
been  askin'  me  if  it's  such  a  terrible  thing  to  be  a 
crook,  but  that  ain't  the  hull  thing,  Miss.  You 
gotta  use  yore  head  in  this.  You  used  me  to  steal 
some  ten  thousand  dollars  for  you,  'cause  they 
happens  to  be  one  little  streak  of  good  in  me  and 
you  found  it  and  worked  it  out.  Miss  Dick,  I  ain't 
got  the  words  to  say  what  I  mean,  but  'cause  you 
done  what  you  done,  I'm  takin'  you  back  to  Sheriff 
Stipples,  an'  I'm  gonna  tell  him  all  I  knows  about 
that  ten  thousand.  They's  some  things  what  no 
person,  not  even  a  woman,  can  do  in  this  world, 
an'  that'll  give  you  somethin'  to  work  yore  head  on 
while  we're  a  moochin'  it  back  to  Triple  Butte. 
Now,  Miss,  you'd  better  stick  them  purty  fingers 
of  yores  into  the  air,  fer  I'm  coinin'  over  to  get 
yore  gun." 

The  girl's  lips,  he  could  see,  had  grown  tight,  and 
her  eyes  had  narrowed.  Her  fingers  clenched  swiftly, 
then  relaxed.  She  threw  her  arms  into  the  air  with 
a  yielding  gesture;  yet  upon  her  features  there  was 
a  look  of  wonderment. 


296  RANGY    PETE 

Rangy  Pete  stepped  over  and  calmly  removed 
the  girl's  gun  from  its  holster. 

"  I  just  done  that  to  keep  you  from  doin'  anything 
rash,"  Rangy  informed,  "  'cause  they's  some  talkin' 
we  gotta  do.  I  been  tellin'  you,  Miss,  that  I'm 
gonna  take  you  back  to  Triple  Butte,  an'  that 
stands.  But  I  ain't  gonna  take  advantage  of  you 
like  what  you  took  it  of  me.  I  caught  you  here, 
kinda  under  false  pretences,  so  I'm  gonna  put  it  up 
to  you  square,  Miss,  to  do  some  thinkin'.  You  can 
have  about  a  few  hours  to  think  it  over;  then  you 
can  say  whether  you  come  back  to  Triple  Butte 
with  me,  peaceful  like,  er  if  I'm  to  let  you  go  again. 
If  you  think  you've  done  the  square  thing  by  me, 
why  I'll  shore  unrope  you,  Miss,  an'  let  you  go. 
An*  when  you've  gone,  I'll  be  settin*  out  after  you 
agin,"an'  I  won't  never  stop  long's  I'm  alive,  till  I've 
got  you.  An5  when  I've  got  you,  I'll  teach  you  that 
you  can't  take  what's  good  in  man  and  turn  it  into 
mud.  You  gotta  learn  that  lesson  some  day,  Miss, 
but  it's  fer  you  to  say  when  you  start.  If  you  thinks 
I  ain't  done  the  square  thing  by  comin'  to  you 
thisaway,  why,  I  lets  you  go  again,  an'  I  gives  you 
a  fair  chance  to  get  away.  But  if  you  go,  Miss, 
they  ain't  nothing  in  this  world  what's  gonna  stop 
me  catchin'  up  with  you  some  day.  That's  what  I 
wanted  you  to  know,  so  you  could  get  to  thinkin' 
right  away." 

When  Rangy  Pete  began  to  talk,  he  saw  that  a 


RANGY    PETE  297 

smile  of  scorn  came  to  the  girl's  lips;  but  shortly 
the  scorn  vanished  and  in  its  place  the  lips  parted 
slightly  and  the  eyes  widened,  as  though  Miss  Dick 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  something  she  could 
not  understand.  Even  when  he  had  finished,  the 
girl  continued  to  stare  at  him  with  wide,  frank  eyes, 
with  eyes  which  were  curiously  speculative,  inno- 
cently confused,  or  shrewdly  contemplative,  as  the 
quick-flitting  emotions  raced  through  her  brain  and 
registered  their  passing  in  her  eyes  alone.  At  one 
moment,  he  believed  she  would  laugh  aloud  in 
mockery;  in  an  instant  there  was  a  softness,  a 
pathetic  tenderness  in  her  eyes  which  seemed  to 
tell  him  that  she  was  feeling  out  beyond  the  only 
world  she  had  ever  known,  with  all  the  innocence 
of  a  trusting  child;  in  a  flash  that  had  vanished  and 
she  was  looking  upon  him  with  a  cold  suspicion 
which  spoke  all  too  plainly  of  the  iron  which  was 
the  soul  of  her  mothering  hills;  in  a  swift  twist  of 
the  head  that,  too,  was  gone,  and  in  its  place  there 
was  a  mingling  of  doubt  and  longing,  a  grasping 
out  for  understanding,  a  wavering  admission  that 
this  world  of  the  ranges  was  an  unknown  land, 
with  its  strange  codes  and  its  still  stranger  men; 
then  that  mood  in  its  turn  was  washed  from  her 
features,  and  the  dominating  note  became  the 
primitive  weapon  used  by  all  the  Eves  since  ever 
the  world  began. 
As  she  sat  there  now,  staring  upon  him  so  child- 


298  RANGY    PETE 

ishly,  with  the  curiously  innocent  eyes  which  asked 
for  understanding,  which  recognized  neither  folly 
nor  weakness  in  the  things  of  the  past,  but  which 
spoke  only  of  a  life  lived  in  accord  with  the  prompting 
of  nature,  Rangy  Pete  rubbed  his  eyes  slowly  and 
blinked  through  the  moonlight. 

How  youth,  that  great  and  glowing  soul  of  the 
universe,  youth,  with  its  irresponsible  follies  and  its 
swift  flashes  of  repentant  sorrows,  claimed  her  now! 
How  youth  reached  out  and  twined  its  fingers  about 
her.  Youth,  with  the  ameliorating  touches  of  the 
moonlight  which  softened  the  quick  flame  of  her 
emotions,  with  the  softly  creeping  moonlit  dark 
which  played  with  the  fingers  of  phantasy  about  her; 
youth,  youth,  that  ever  glowing,  radiant  thing, 
that  gently  childish,  touching  thing,  claimed  her 
now.  Youth?  The  youth,  which  he  himself  had  lost; 
yet  which  stole  back  into  his  veins  now  with  the 
quickening  pulse  of  wine  clamoring  at  the  brain! 
Youth,  with  its  bright  eyes,  its  wide  eyes  —  curse 
her! 

Youth,  with  its  innocent,  guileless  lips,  with  its 
slow-growing,  wondering  smile,  which  seemed  but  a 
part  of  the  saddening  moonlight,  which  begged  for 
friendship,  which  whispered  of  the  loneliness  of  a 
lonely  soul  in  the  wide  world  of  unreality,  which 
touched  some  far-off  chord  in  the  heart  and  set  to 
echoing  the  music  of  the  silent  night  —  youth,  with 
its  lips  which  smiled,  with  the  vague  moonlight  all 


RANGY    PETE  299 

about,  with  the  silence  of  the  vast  world  —  youth, 
with  eyes  which  sparkled,  which  taunted,  which 
pleaded  —  youth,  youth,  with  its  gladness,  its 
sadness,  its  innocence;  youth  set  in  the  stagery  of 
the  mystery  of  the  mystic  night,  with  the  giant 
tableau  of  the  giant  hills  all  about;  youth,  so  frank, 
so  helpless,  so  pleading  —  youth,  leaning  towards  him 
now,  with  that  smile  upon  her  lips,  that  moonlight 
in  her  hair,  that  deep,  childish  wonder  in  her  eyes — 

God!  The  pity  of  it  all.  Rangy  Pete  clenched  his 
hands  savagely.  This  could  not  be  acting,  for  no 
acting  in  the  world  could  reach  through  the  surface 
of  life  as  the  girl's  manner  was  going,  no  acting 
could  reach  beyond  the  crust  of  living  and  peer  into 
the  mystic  chambers  of  the  soul.  Rangy  Pete 
brushed  one  hand  before  his  eyes.  The  witchery 
of  the  girl  and  the  moonlight!  Youth,  looking  out 
now,  with  wide-staring  eyes,  into  a  world  which  it 
had  never  seen  before.  Youth,  looking  for  the  first 
tune  upon  a  new  code  of  life,  a  code  which  says 
that  each  man  has  a  neighbor  and  that  littleness 
towards  man  does  not  make  up  the  greatness  of 
living. 

As  Rangy  Pete  stood  there  and  watched  the 
fingers  of  emotion  playing  their  patterns  over  her 
moon-lit  face,  he  wondered  how  many  years  there 
would  be  to  her  youth.  He  had  not  thought  of  it 
in  just  that  way  before.  He  had  thought  of  her  at 
first  as  a  glad-faced,  yet  precocious  boy.  She  had 


300  RANGY   PETE 

the  same  slim,  trim  figure  of  a  growing  youth,  the 
same  arrogant  poise  of  the  head,  and  up  to  this 
moment  there  had  been  the  same  fearless  glance  of 
her  challenging  blue  eyes.  He  had  not  thought  of 
her  before  as  being  gifted  with  any  mere  number 
of  years,  yet  now,  with  that  childish  wonder  still 
shining  from  her  eyes,  it  came  to  him  suddenly  that 
the  number  of  her  years  would  be  a  vastly  important 
thing.  For  youth,  great  youth,  must  be  forgiven 
much. 

"How  old  are  you,  girl?"  he  demanded  abruptly. 

Miss  Dick  drew  back  with  a  gasp,  as  though  the 
portal  to  some  new  universe  had  been  suddenly 
closed  in  her  face.  In  a  quick  fling  of  her  head,  the 
wonder,  the  childishness,  the  innocence,  were  swept 
from  her  face;  and  in  their  place  there  came  that 
cold  suspicion  which  was  the  iron  of  the  boundless 
buttes. 

"What  does  it  matter  how  old  I  am?"  Miss  Dick 
challenged  calmly,  though  some  of  the  doubt  of 
youth  lingered  in  her  voice. 

Rangy  Pete  laughed  sharply,  almost  with  relief. 

"It  don't,  now,"  he  declared,  "though  I  kinda 
figured  a  minute  ago  that  it  had  somethin'  to  do 
with  things.  I  can  see  now  that  it  wa'n't  nothin' 
but  the  moonlight.  It's  funny  what  the  moonlight 
can  do  up  here  in  the  hills  when  you  ain't  used  to 
it,  Miss.  Down  on  the  ranges  it's  kinda  different. 
It  don't  play  no  tricks  on  a  person.  Now  if  it  ain't 


RANGY    PETE  301 

\ 

pushin'  you  too  much,  Miss,  I'd  sorta  like  you  to 
do  some  thinkin'.  How  long  do  you  think  it'll  take 
you,  Miss,  to  make  up  yore  mind  whether  you'll 
come  with  me  now  peaceful  like,  er  ii  I'm  to  let 

you  go?" 

There  was  a  suggestion  of  the  old  flash  of  inno- 
cence upon  the  girl's  features  when  she  looked  at 
him  again.  At  least,  Rangy  Pete  found  upon  her 
face  a  definite  trace  of  sincerity  which  reminded 
him  of  youthful  innocence. 

"If  I  go  with  you  now,  you  intend  to  give  me 
up  to  the  sheriff  and  charge  me  with  stealing  that 
ten  thousand  dollars?"  she  asked. 

"And  prove  the  charge,"  Rangy  supplemented. 
"They  ain't  no  gettin'  round  that,  Miss.  All  I  gotta 
do  is  step  in  the  box  an'  tell  what  I  knows  about 
tilings." 

Miss  Dick  did  not  dispute  the  point.  She  appeared 
to  admit  the  strength  of  his  reasoning  by  averting 
her  face  and  considering  the  silver-tipped  fringe 
of  the  buttes. 

"And  if  I  do  not  go  with  you  now,  of  my  own 
accord,  you  will  let  me  go,  give  me  a  start,  and 
take  your  chances  of  finding  me  some  other  day?" 
the  girl  pressed. 

"That  ain't  plumb  true  with  what  I  said,"  Rangy 
corrected.  "What  I  said  was  that  I'd  shore  round 
you  up,  if  it  took  all  the  days  what  I  got  left." 

Miss  Dick  reflected,  while  she  drummed  her  heels 


302  RANGY    PETE 

upon  the  rock.  "How  much  start  would  you  give 
me?"  she  insisted. 

"Any thin'  you  ask,  Miss,  from  a  day  to  a  month. 
I  could'n  give  you  no  more'n  a  month." 

Again  Miss  Dick  fell  back  upon  her  own  thoughts, 
but  this  time  she  was  immersed  in  their  depths  for 
such  a  length  of  time  that  Rangy  Pete  grew  restless. 

"All  I'm  askin'  you,  Miss,  is  to  tell  me  how  long 
you  need  to  make  up  yore  mind.  They  ain't  no 
hurry  about  it  - 

Miss  Dick  chose  that  moment  to  laugh.  "You 
poor  ninny,"  she  declared.  "What  is  the  use  of 
you  going  back  to  Triple  Butte  without  the  ten 
thousand  dollars?  You  might  take  me  back  and 
tell  your  little  story  to  the  sheriff,  but  who  is 
going  to  believe  you,  unless  you  take  the  money 
back  too?  Who  is  going  to  believe  you,  especially 
if  I  say  you  knew  all  the  time  that  the  money  was 
in  the  box  of  Merrill's  apples?  You  mustn't  forget, 
Mr.  Rangy  Pete,  that  they  don't  grow  bandits  in 
the  buttes  without  heads  on  them.  Suppose,  after 
you  tell  your  little  story  that  I  tell  the  sheriff  you 
were  in  on  the  deal  all  the  time,  and  that  Jtou  got 
cranky  when  Dervisher  Dick  wouldn't  give  you  a 
big  slice  of  the  ten  thousand.  While  I  have  been 
thinking,  Mr.  Pete,  I've  found  about  a  dozen  things 
I  could  say  to  Mr.  Sheriff  that  wouldn't  make  you 
look  like  a  town  hero  back  in  Triple  Butte.  Have 
you  thought  about  that?" 


RANGY    PETE  303 

Rangy  Pete  took  a  few  steps  forward,  then  he 
leaned  up  against  the  rock  upon  which  the  girl  was 
seated.  He  tilted  back  his  sombrero  so  that  the 
moonlight  fell  full  upon  his  face,  and  though  it 
softened  some  of  the  lines  which  the  desert-life  had 
bitten  into  his  years,  it  still  showed  to  the  girl  a  face 
which  was  calm  and  fixed,  with  some  of  the  old 
calm  hardness  of  the  hills  themselves. 

"I'm  thinkin',  Miss,  that  they  ain't  anythin'  in 
this  whole  business  what  I  ain't  thought  about," 
he  declared  slowly.  "I've  had  a  whole  lot  of  hours 
to  do  my  thinkin',  and  they's  only  the  one  thing 
what  counts.  Miss,  I  don't  come  into  this  at  all. 
I  don't  count  no  more'n  a  hitchin'  post  what  you'd 
shoot  full  of  holes.  What  happens  to  me  don't 
make  no  difference  nohow.  The  person  what  counts 
is  you  —  and  you  gotta  learn,  Miss  Dick,  that  you 
can't  mine  a  man  fer  all  the  good  that's  in  him,  an* 
get  away  with  it.  So,  Miss,  don't  you  get  to  thinkin' 
none  about  what's  gonna  happen  to  me.  You  jest 
keep  rememberin'  that  I'm  gonna  take  you  back 
to  Triple  Butte,  an*  if  it  ain't  tomorrer  er  the  next 
day,  it'll  shore  be  some  other  day.  That's  all  you 
gotta  think  about,  Miss." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  the  girl's  eyes 
flashed  through  the  moonlight,  but  if  that  were  true, 
the  flash  was  gone  instantly,  and  in  its  place  there 
came  a  mixture  of  docility  and  that  youthful  innocence 
which  but  a  short  time  before  had  puzzled  Rangy  Pete. 


304  RANGY    PETE 

"Very  well,"  the  girl  conceded,  "I  will  let  you 
know  in  the  morning,  seeing  that  you  are  so  sure 
about  it.  Now,  will  you  go  on  away  and  leave  me 
alone.  I  suppose  you  can  trust  me  not  to  run  away 
through  the  night.  Or  if  I  did,  you  would  catch  me 
anyway." 

Miss  Dick  broke  off  with  a  suggestion  of  resentful 
laughter,  and  when  she  tossed  her  head  arrogantly 
the  moonlight  flashed  back  from  the  glitter  of  her 
eyes.  Storm-tossed  in  her  moods !  Rangy  Pete  smiled 
inwardly,  though  his  lips  did  not  move.  She  had 
not  dismissed  him  at  once,  with  the  imperiousness 
which  should  have  been  hers.  So  she  was  wavering! 

Miss  Dick,  the  arrogant,  the  cool-headed  bandit, 
was  wavering  now!  Or  did  it  mean  that  some  faint, 
far-off  strain  of  good  within  her  had  been  touched 
by  the  stand  he  had  taken?  Good,  within  her? 
Rangy's  spirit  laughed  bitterly,  though  his  face  was 
moveless.  Good?  Too  young  for  that.  Too  accursed 
with  the  wayward  self-interest  of  youth. 

"Shore,  I  can  leave  you  here  if  you  want  me  to," 
Rangy  replied  calmly,  "but  the  Merrill  punchers'd 
have  you  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  I  ain't  got  a  hanker- 
ing for  you  to  fall  into  Merrill's  hands  - 

"What  does  Merrill  know  about  this  place?"  the 
girl  demanded. 

"Nothing,  except  that  a  whole  army  is  following 
me.  Want  to  hear  about  it?" 

The  swift  nod  of  the  head  and  the  flash  of  the  blue 


RANGY    PETE  305 

eyes  told  Rangy  Pete  that  Miss  Dick  had  become 
anxious  for  the  details  of  the  past.  So  he  furnished 
them,  with  his  own  wealth  of  expression,  watching 
the  far-off  slumbering  shadows  of  emotion  which  rose 
to  the  girl's  eyes  as  he  talked;  and  he  amplified 
those  recent  incidents  with  a  definite  latent  enjoy- 
ment until  suddenly  he  became  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  it  was  pleasant  to  stand  thus,  looking  up  into 
the  girl's  wondering  eyes.  When  he  became  aware 
of  that,  Rangy  broke  off  sharply. 

"So  we'd  better  be  mooching  it,"  he  concluded. 
"There's  nothing  for  it,  Miss,  but  to  follow  this 
trail  we're  now  on.  I'm  hoping  you  know  where  it 
goes.  I've  never  been  up  this  draw  more'n  about 
ten-twenty  miles  — 

Miss  Dick  glanced  at  him  swiftly,  with  a  strange 
light  in  her  eyes,  then  she  looked  away  again.  "All 
right,  we'll  go,"  she  concluded.  "I  know  the  way." 

Rangy  delayed  the  departure  while  he  returned 
the  girl's  revolver,  then  he  mounted  the  burnt-yellow 
cayuse,  and  side  by  side  they  rode  up  the  winding 
valley  of  the  draw,  along  the  bright  pathway  of 
silver  which  the  moon  laid  down  before  them. 


CHAPTER   XI 

SOMEWHERE  behind  them,  as  they  rode,  Rangy 
knew,  were  the  hurrying  riders  of  the  posse.  Far 
off,  along  this  route  which  Miss  Dick  had  chosen, 
was  the  tangled  land  of  the  Dervishers.  All  about 
them  were  the  pyramids  of  buttes,  rising  up 
above  this  magic  valley  land  and  throwing  into 
the  obscurity  of  gloom  the  whole  of  the  world 
except  that  one  narrow  pathway  which  stretched 
out  clear  and  crisp  in  the  glow  of  the  moon.  The 
glad  light  of  the  moon  stole  over  the  rim  of  the 
buttes,  and  it  filmed  all  the  air  about  with  a  smoky 
haze  which  stretched  on  and  on  before  the  eye  to 
even  greater  distance  than  ran  this  silver  path- 
way. 

The  air  of  night  was  crisp  and  cool  and  dry,  with 
no  faint  suggestion  of  the  heat  of  the  day.  There 
was  in  it  an  exhilaration  like  the  touch  of  wine; 
there  was  a  response  in  the  quick  surge  of  blood 
through  the  veins  of  youth.  Behind  them  were  the 
riders  of  the  plains,  forgotten  for  a  time  beneath  the 
magic  spell  of  the  butte  lands. 

Rangy  Pete,  who  had  ridden  the  ranges  and  the 
hills  through  many  a  strange  day  and  many  a 
stranger  night,  knew  that  this  silvering  touch  of  the 

306 


RANGY    PETE  307 

moon  painted  the  iron  of  the  buttes  in  its  most 
caressing  mood;  he  knew  that  never  could  nature 
come  nearer  to  bowing  before  the  sentiments  of 
man;  and  because  of  that  knowledge  he  glanced 
over  at  the  silent  figure  of  the  girl  at  his  side. 

Perhaps  Miss  Dick  felt  something  of  the  same 
softening  touch  of  the  hills,  for  abruptly  she  swept 
off  her  sombrero,  and  she  rode  on  silently  through 
the  night,  with  the  stray  wisps  of  her  hair  floating 
out  to  catch  something  of  the  shimmer  of  the 
moonlight. 

Rangy  Pete  rode  just  as  silently,  wondering  at 
the  picture  of  her,  as  she  sat  her  cayuse  with  all  the 
superb  ease  of  a  careless  boy,  as  the  moonbeams 
toyed  about  her  and  tried  to  paint  out  for  the  time 
being  all  the  drab  days  of  her  past.  As  she  rode 
there  so  silently,  with  the  magic  of  the  solemn  hills, 
of  the  deep  mysterious  shadows,  of  the  glad-glimmer- 
ing moon,  thrown  out  as  a  giant  stagery  about  her, 
Rangy  Pete  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  this  boyish 
figure,  with  its  quietly  solemn  face,  was  the  same 
Miss  Dick  against  whom  he  had  been  compelled  to 
declare  war. 

Along  the  winding  pathway  of  the  butte  lands; 
through  deep  patches  of  night-cooled  shadow  which 
by  day  would  be  burning  to  the  touch;  through  the 
open,  boulder-strewn  glades  where  the  moonlight 
glimmered  and  mingled  with  the  haze  of  night; 
following  the  twisting  course  of  the  draw,  up  sharp 


308  RANGY   PETE 

grades,  and  down  into  the  mystery  of  blackened 
valleys  over  which  the  hesitating  haze  of  night 
hung  like  a  film-cloud,  Rangy  Pete  made  his  way, 
still  at  the  side  of  Miss  Dick  the  bandit.  At  times, 
as  they  climbed  out  of  some  darkened  valley  through 
the  film  of  night,  as  their  heads  rose  up  through  the 
vaporish  aura  which  circled  over  these  hill-pocketed 
valleys,  as  they  came  up  near  the  crest  of  some  butte 
and  looked  down  upon  the  whole  world  dancing 
away  before  them  in  the  arms  of  the  moonlight, 
Rangy  Pete  felt  something  of  the  poignant  beauty 
of  living.  It  would  be  wonderful  to  wander  on  and 
on  like  this  forever,  to  forget  that  there  was  a  great 
world  out  beyond  this  magic  land  of  night,  to  forget 
that  in  these  same  hills  there  were  burning  days, 
to  remember  only  the  present  with  its  instant  joys. 
Rangy  shrugged  his  shoulders  sharply.  If  only 
one  could  forget  the  past  and  the  inevitable  future! 

In  that  moment  of  temptation,  a  trace  of  anger 
came  to  his  bruin.  Why  should  he  care  about  the 
petty  deeds  of  the  world?  Life  was  a  gift  thrust 
unasked  into  the  hands  of  every  man,  a  prize  to  be 
lived  to  the  ultimate  or  a  bauble  to  be  cast  aside; 
so  what  mattered  to  him  the  tiny  life  of  Triple  Butte 
or  of  the  plains  beyond,  as  long  as  there  were  trails 
such  as  this  to  be  ridden  at  night,  with  a  girl  like 
this  whose  floating  wisps  of  hair  could  shine  so 
gloriously  in  the  moonlight? 

Rangy  Pete  was  still  pondering  that  point,  when 


RANGY    PETE  309 

Miss  Dick,  looking  along  the  moonlit  trail  ahead 
to  a  point  where  it  dipped  sharply  into  the  shadows, 
abruptly  broke  the  long  silence. 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you  to  wonder  just  where 
I  am  taking  you?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

"Does  it  matter?"  Rangy  Pete  replied,  with  the 
mystery  of  the  night  still  upon  him. 

"That  is  for  you  to  say,"  Miss  Dick  returned, 
quite  without  emotion.  "A  few  hours  ago  you 
seemed  angered  at  the  mere  thought  of  joining  the 
Dervishers.  Even  the  suggestion  seemed  to  touch 
you  upon  a  raw  spot.  Does  your  answer  mean  that 
you  have  changed  your  mind?" 

"Not  as  long  as  I  got  a  mind  of  my  own,"  Rangy 
returned. 

"Then  you  really  are  quite  simple  after  all," 
Miss  Dick  went  on,  with  calm  emphasis,  "and  it 
does  matter  where  I  happen  to  be  taking  you.  Sup- 
pose I  should  tell  you  that  we  passed  a  Dervisher 
camp  in  the  last  valley,  that  there  is  another  in  the 
valley  immediately  ahead,  that  there  is  no  way  out 
of  this  trail  but  forward  or  back,  and  that  all  I  need 
to  do  to  bring  a  swarm  of  men  about  me  is  to  fire  off 
my  revolver.  What  happens  then  to  your  boast  to 
take  me  out  to  Triple  Butte?  You  know  there  are 
men  among  the  Dervishers  who  would  jump  to  do 
anything  I  ask,  big  or  small  —  " 

"  An'  a  bit  of  shootin'  would  look  small  to  them," 
Rangy  suggested. 


310  RANGY    PETE 

Miss  Dick  seemed  temporarily  angered.  She 
remained  in  silence  while  they  passed  through  the 
darkened  valley,  while  they  climbed  its  ridge  and 
on  into  a  series  of  valleys  and  hills  beyond. 

"  What  I  mean  is  —  how  do  you  know  I  am  not 
leading  you  into  the  Dervisher  camp?  "  she  asked  at 
length.  "There  are  any  number  of  men  there  who 
would - 

"That's  what  I'm  hopin'  you'll  do,"  Rangy 
returned  imperturbably,  "  since  you  been  a  talkin'  to 
me  about  that  ten  thousand  dollars  in  gold,  I  been 
doin'  some  thinkin',  an'  I  agree  with  you,  Miss,  that 
I'd  otta  take  that  money  back  with  me  when  we 
go  in  to  Triple  Butte.  So,  Miss,  if  it  ain't  askin'  too 
much  of  you,  I'd  shore  be  obliged  if  you'd  lead  the 
way  to  the  Dervisher  camp  an'  show  me  where  they 
got  that  ten  thousand  cached." 

"What  would  you  do  with  it,  if  you  got  your 
fingers  on  it  in  an  easy  way  like  that?"  Miss  Dick 
demanded. 

"Same  as  if  I  got  it  in  a  hard  way,  er  by  havin' 
to  shoot  a  couple  of  persons.  It's  all  the  same  to  me. 
It'd  have  to  go  back  to  the  person  it  belongs  to,  an' 
that  happens  to  be  Rough  House  Dan  Merrill. 
They  ain't  no  fun  handin'  ten  thousand  of  any  thin' 
over  to  Dan  Merrill,  'less  they  happens  to  be  lead- 
coated,  but  seein'  'at  it  was  Merrill's  stuff  you  hadda 
go  an'  steal,  they  ain't  nothin'  for  it  but  to  give  it 
baok  to  him." 


RANGY    PETE  311 

Rangy 's  dissertation  was  interrupted  by  a  low, 
but  mocking,  ripple  of  laughter.  Coincidently  Miss 
Dick  spurred  her  cayuse  forward  for  a  few  rapid 
strides,  until  she  led  the  way,  with  Rangy  Pete  some 
paces  behind,  then  she  slackened  to  their  old  pace, 
but  she  did  not  look  backward.  Even  through  the 
moonlight,  Rangy  could  be  quite  sure  that  the  ripple 
of  laughter  had  grown  in  its  dimensions,  and  that 
there  was  something  in  the  situation  which  had  a 
strongly  humorous  appeal  to  Miss  Dick. 

Through  the  traveling  of  some  paces,  Rangy 
wondered  just  where  was  the  foundation  for  humor; 
then  abruptly,  from  a  sidling  fling  of  the  girl's  head, 
he  knew.  Miss  Dick  did  not  believe  him.  She  did  not 
credit  the  seriousness  of  his  intentions,  so  far  as  that 
ten  thousand  dollars  were  concerned.  She  regarded 
it  simply  as  a  crude  attempt  to  get  possession  of  the 
spoils.  Because  of  the  iron  teaching  of  the  butte  land, 
she  was  incapable,  perhaps,  of  appreciating  that 
man  could  do  the  thing  which  he  had  planned  to 
do. 

For  a  time,  the  pity  of  that  seemed  to  rob  the 
moonlight  of  some  of  its  glory.  But  it  did  not  rob 
Miss  Dick  of  any  of  her  outward  appeal.  As  she 
rode  on  now  through  the  brilliant  patches  and 
through  the  deep  shadows,  a  light,  careless  air  of 
brigandage  came  to  her  lips.  She  hummed  it  with 
the  free  spirit  of  one  without  care,  and  to  Rangy  Pete, 
riding  in  the  background,  it  seemed  that  for  the 


312  RANGY    PETE 

time  being  she  had  forgotten  all  about  him  and  his 
problem. 

The  pity  of  it!  For  Miss  Dick,  under  other  con- 
ditions, could  have  been  one  of  the  desires  of  the 
world.  He  was  conscious  of  the  free,  youthful  grace, 
the  abandon  of  her,  as  she  rode  on  ahead,  singing  a 
song  of  the  piracy  of  the  hills,  scorning  the  conven- 
tions of  man,  and  mocking  the  good  within  him  as 
being  nothing  but  a  tawdry  strain. 

Though  the  girl's  voice  was  low,  it  came  to  him 
clearly  through  the  night  air,  with  a  taunting 
texture  in  its  notes,  with  laughter  almost  at  the 
surface  of  the  words.  There  was  a  poise  to  her  head, 
he  could  see,  which  was  more  mocking  even  than 
the  laughter;  but  there  was  nothing  about  Miss  Dick 
which  robbed  her  of  any  of  the  appeal  of  her  moonlit 
beauty  —  curse  her  !  A  wonderfully  young  and 
virile  thing,  humanly  appealing,  alluring,  yet  accursed 
with  the  sin  of  the  butte  lands  —  drawing  him  away, 
inch  by  inch,  from  the  strength  of  his  purpose. 
He  had  been  right,  days  ago,  when  he  had  told 
himself  that  within  her  fair  and  appealing  body 
there  was  a  vampirish  soul  created  for  man's 
destruction  —  no,  he  would  not  have  it  so  -  she 
was  not  luring  him  away  from  his  purpose;  she  was 
goading  him  on  to  do  his  duty. 

Rangy  Pete  spurred  his  cayuse  almost  angrily,  and 
he  rode  up  beside  the  girl.  She  glanced  at  him  care- 
lessly, but  the  lilt  of  song  did  not  drop  from  her  lips. 


RANGY   PETE  313 

Something  prompted  Rangy  to  wait  until  long 
after  the  song  was  finished,  so  that  in  the  end  it 
was  the  girl  who  spoke  first. 

"I  am  half  inclined  to  take  you  to  the  gold,  to 
show  it  to  you,  and  then  see  what  happens,"  she 
declared  suddenly,  with  an  air  which  hinted  at 
strange  possibilities  for  the  future,  with  a  definite 
sporting  spirit  which  implied  that  the  incident  could 
not  be  without  its  human  interest.  To  her,  it  would 
be  a  game. 

"Mabbe  you  don't  like  the  Dervishers,  er  perhaps 
you  got  a  big  spite  against  them,"  Rangy  returned 
easily. 

"There  are  some  I  could  see  rubbed  out,"  the 
girl  returned,  as  she  caught  the  meaning  of  his  taunt; 
then  abruptly  her  thoughts  seemed  to  drift  away. 

"If  they's  to  be  a  reception  party,  I  would'n  advise 
you  none  to  have  any  friends  among  them  present," 
Rangy  interrupted  Miss  Dick's  mood.  "This's  just 
a  li'l  tip  I'm  handin'  to  you,  Miss,  so  any  time  you 
wants  to  run  on  ahead  and  kinda  herd  yore  friends 
outa  the  way,  you  just  let  me  know." 

Miss  Dick  glanced  at  him  sharply,  with  a  flash  in 
her  eyes,  but  Rangy  Pete  could  see  that  there  was 
irresolution  upon  her  features  which  she  tried  to 
conceal,  but  which  for  the  moment  was  the  most 
compelling  phase  of  her. 

So  she  was  still  wavering.  She  could  not  under- 
stand him,  Rangy  Pete,  than  whom,  in  his  own 


314  RANGY    PETE 

esteem,  there  was  no  easier  person  in  the  whole 
world  to  understand.  His  life,  as  he  viewed  it  now, 
had  been  simple  and  direct,  in  its  loves  as  well  as  in 
its  hates,  in  its  words  as  well  as  in  its  acts.  While 
hers?  God  only  knew  what  strange  weavings  of 
complexities  the  iron  of  the  buttes  and  the  teachings 
of  brigandage  had  builded  into  her. 

Still,  it  did  seem  to  be  his  place  to  help  her  to 
understand. 

"Miss  Dick,"  he  resumed,  "they  shore  looks  to 
be  some  big  thoughts  a  troublin'  themselves  in  that 
head  of  yores,  so  I'm  gonna  tell  you  one  or  two 
things  what  mabbe'll  help  you  to  get  a  rope  on  them 
unruly  ideas.  What  I  want  you  to  know  is  that 
when  I  say  I'm  gonna  do  a  thing,  I  do  it.  I  allus 
say  what  I  mean,  near's  I  can  find  the  words  to  say 
it;  an'  the  worst  little  thought  you  got  in  yore  head 
at  this  minute  is  the  one  that  mabbe  I'm  try  in'  to 
put  somethin'  over  you  about  that  ten  thousand. 
Miss  Dick,  you  can  take  it  from  me,  I  would'n 
touch  that  ten  thousand  with  a  hundred  foot  lariat 
if  I  had'n  come  to  see  that  it's  just  as  much  my  job 
to  get  that  money  back  as  it  is  to  take  you  in  to 
Triple  Butte.  I'm  thankin'  you,  Miss,  for  remindin' 
me  about  the  ten  thousand.  Mabbe  it  ain'  easy  for 
a  bandit  to  understand,  Miss,  but  I'm  wantin*  you 
to  know  that  I  ain't  had  enough  trainin'  to  be  able 
to  look  in  more'n  one  direction  at  once,  an'  they 
ain't  room  in  my  head  for  more'n  one  big  idea  at 


RANGY    PETE  315 

a  time.  When  you  get  that  rounded  up,  mabbe 
you'll  see  that  the  only  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to 
show  me  that  ten  thousand,  an'  then  come  back  to 
Triple  Butte  peaceable  like." 

Again  Miss  Dick  looked  at  Rangy  Pete,  and  she 
studied  his  face  calmly  through  the  moonlight.  This 
time  there  was  no  suggestion  of  laughter  or  mockery 
in  her  manner.  There  was,  instead,  a  demand  to 
know  the  truth.  But  back  of  her  eagerness  to  under- 
stand, Rangy  was  conscious  of  the  working  of  some 
inbred  vein  of  suspicion.  That,  of  course,  was  the 
result  of  her  Me  among  the  Dervishers.  For  the 
moment,  as  he  thought  of  that,  a  touch  of  pity  came 
to  his  eyes.  Pity  in  his  eyes  —  a  sharp  flash  of  anger 
upon  the  face  of  the  girl. 

Promptly  Miss  Dick  spurred  her  cayuse  forward, 
and  she  raced  on  through  the  alternate  light  and 
shadow  of  the  butte  land.  The  quick,  impetuous 
mood  of  her! 

So  she  had  given  him  her  answer.  She  would  not 
ride  back  to  Triple  Butte  in  peace.  It  was  for  him 
now  to  follow  her,  to  camp  upon  her  trail  through 
the  long  days  and  nights,  to  come  up  with  her  again 
sometime  in  the  future;  and  then,  when  he  found 
her,  to  teach  to  her  that  code  of  mankind. 

Rangy  rode  silently  through  the  night,  with  the 
problem  upon  him,  and  with  a  strange  and  new 
gnawing  of  pain  about  the  heart.  It  was  queer  how 
the  magic  and  the  charm  should  have  fled  from  the 


316  RANGY    PETE 

mellowness  of  the  moonlight.  It  was  strange  how 
these  buttes  should  become  nothing  but  drab  sen- 
tinels peering  into  the  night;  and  it  was  stranger 
still  how  the  thought  of  Miss  Dick,  the  bandit, 
should  bring  to  his  brain  the  keen  thrill  of  promise 
and  the  deep  torment  of  despair,  like  the  flashing 
and  vanishing  of  some  ultimate  prize  before  the  eyes. 

Through  the  night  he  rode,  with  the  pangs  and 
the  promise  of  the  future  in  constant  conflict  within 
him;  and  then,  when  a  vague  restlessness  among 
the  shad  ings  of  the  eastern  sky  warned  him  of 
brilliant  sunrise,  he  came  to  a  dividing  point  in  the 
trail. 

One  draw  angled  to  the  north,  the  other  to  the 
south,  towards  the  Pass  which  marked  the  last 
barrier  of  the  Dervishers  before  one  came  to  that 
tangle  of  hills  and  valleys  beyond.  Rangy  dis- 
mounted and  studied  the  trail  carefully. 

A  moment  later  he  shook  his  head  in  a  worried 
way  at  the  burnt-yellow  cayuse.  Miss  Dick,  by 
turning  to  the  north,  would  have  avoided  all  those 
stray  riders  who  had  been  strung  out  through  the 
butte  land  for  days  now  in  search  for  Dervishers. 
She  would  have  avoided  all  those  Snaky  Y  punchers 
who  had  gone  south  the  night  before  in  search  for 
him.  To  the  north  lay  freedom,  unhampered  and 
untramelled. 

To  the  south  lay  the  full  menace  which  the  butte 
land  could  draw  unto  itself.  To  the  south  lay  the 


RANGY    PETE  317 

clearer,  untangled  trails,  where  man,  caught  between 
the  impassable  barriers  of  the  cliffs,  would  be  trapped 
helplessly  and  hopelessly  between  whatever  forces 
chose  to  press  upon  him.  And  Miss  Dick  had  turned 
to  the  south! 

The  strange,  unreadable  whim  of  her!  For  the 
girl  must  have  known  that  those  southern  trails, 
being  closer  to  Triple  Butte  than  was  this  northern 
pass,  must  already  be  peopled  with  the  stray  posses 
from  the  Snaky  Y  and  with  the  venom  of  their 
purpose. 

Rangy  Pete's  brow  grew  furrowed  as  he  looked 
into  the  south  through  the  growing  sunlight,  and  as 
he  thought  of  the  dangers  which  lay  along  the  trail 
which  Miss  Dick  had  taken,  dangers  for  her  and  for 
him. 

Then  he  shaded  his  eyes  and  peered  back  along 
the  draw  he  had  just  ridden.  Back  there,  thrown 
up  clearly  against  the  sharpening  rays  of  the  sun, 
were  the  jagged  rock  and  the  rugged  outline  of  crude 
cliffs.  Back  there  the  trail  rose  and  fell  —  and  yes! 
Back  along  that  sun-splayed  draw  there  were  tiny 
black  shadows  crawling  along  through  the  morning 
light.  Black  shadows  which  wove  and  twisted  their 
way  among  the  boulders,  shadows  which  toiled,  and 
which,  even  as  he  looked,  drew  slowly  towards  him. 

Again  the  furrow  came  to  Rangy's  brow,  and  the 
swift  glance  which  he  swept  over  the  butte  land  was 
one  almost  of  angered  protest. 


318  RANGY    PETE 

Behind  him  was  the  posse  which  had  dogged  him 
all  through  the  previous  day.  In  it  would  be  Dan 
Merrill,  smarting  under  the  many  lashes  which  had 
scourged  him  of  late,  but  smarting  most  of  all 
because  of  the  loss  of  ten  thousand  dollars  in  gold. 

In  Merrill's  heart  there  would  be  but  the  one 
burning  purpose  of  revenge;  and  at  Merrill's  back 
there  were  a  score  at  least  of  those  creeping  black 
shadows  which  in  time  would  turn  into  men  keen 
to  do  the  other's  bidding.  To  the  north  lay  freedom, 
undoubted  and  undisputed. 

To  the  south,  here  at  his  very  feet,  was  the  mouth 
of  that  draw  which  was  the  neck  of  a  bottle  pointing 
towards  the  trap  of  the  butte  lands.  Miss  Dick  had 
ridden  into  it,  calmly  and  uncaring. 

As  for  himself?  Again  that  burning  about  the 
heart,  that  cry  of  pity  in  his  brain,  that  demand 
that  he  see  once  more  the  blue  well  of  light  which 
shone  down  into  her  unreadable  soul. 

With  a  gesture  of  impatience,  Rangy  Pete  slapped 
the  astonished  cayuse  with  his  sombrero  and  he 
rode  swiftly  and  surely  down  the  storm-tossed  trail 
to  the  south,  into  the  vast  and  vague  hours  of  the 
unknown  future.  For  off  there,  in  the  uncharted 
spaces  of  time  and  place,  the  call  of  the  bandit  girl 
was  luring  him. 


CHAPTER   XH 

INTO  the  neck  of  the  bottle  which  was  the  trap 
of  the  butte  lands  rode  Rangy  Pete,  conscious  as  he 
rode  of  the  net  which  must  be  weaving  about  him. 
To  the  north,  that  way  lay  freedom,  with  the  open 
trails  ahead.  To  the  south,  somewhere  along  this  trail 
he  was  now  threading,  or  in  the  Pelican  draw,  or  in 
the  draws  beyond,  there  must  be  the  keen  riders  of  the 
Snaky  Y,  spurred  on  by  the  savagery  of  Dan  Merrill. 

In  the  whole  logical  summary  of  events,  there 
could  be  nothing  less.  He,  to  all  practical  purposes, 
was  the  bandit  who  had  stolen  that  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  gold,  and  he,  being  now  an  outcast,  would 
be  the  just  victim  of  any  rider  from  the  Snaky  Y. 
And,  unless  Merrill  were  utterly  devoid  of  reason, 
these  draws  to  the  south,  leading  through  to  the 
Pass  and  to  the  land  of  the  Dervishers,  must  have 
been  blocked  hours  ago  —  yet  behind  him,  to  the 
north,  lay  freedom. 

After  that  one  swift  decision,  Rangy  gave  those 
trails  to  the  north  barely  a  thought;  for  it  was  the 
lure  of  Miss  Dick,  the  bandit,  which  was  dragging 
him  on,  the  lure  and  the  consciousness  that  the 
dangers  into  which  he  was  riding  so  confidently 
could  be  no  less  vital  and  poignant  to  her. 

319 


320  RANGY    PETE 

Through  the  day  he  rode,  over  the  tumble  of  hills 
and  valley,  past  the  pyramids  of  gray  rocks  and  the 
sentinels  of  turret  tips,  climbing  slowly  but  steadily 
through  the  unpitying  light  of  the  sun  which  poured 
its  searching  rays  over  the  butte  land.  Slowly  that 
trail  climbed  upward  as  it  twisted  and  wound  its 
way  about  the  pyramids  and  turrets  of  rock. 

For  great  stretches  the  whole  trail,  both  forward 
and  back,  was  lost  completely  to  view;  at  tunes  it 
hid  behind  the  turrets  of  the  buttes;  again  it  lay 
within  their  shadow,  but  always,  whenever  the  clear 
stretches  of  world  lay  behind  him,  he  could  see  those 
crawling  black  shadows  which  seemed  to  grow  larger 
with  the  passing  of  the  hours. 

"They're  gaining,  boy!"  Rangy  informed  the 
uncaring  cayuse.  "You've  had  a  bit  too  much  work 
to  do  these  past  days." 

With  that  consciousness  upon  him,  and  the  full 
knowledge  of  its  significance,  Rangy  Pete  kept  his 
mind  upon  the  future  and  his  eyes  upon  the  trail 
before  him.  For  off  there  Miss  Dick  must  eventually 
ride  into  the  ranks  of  the  punchers,  unless,  per- 
chance, she  really  knew  what  she  was  doing  after 
all. 

Through  some  minutes  that  thought  startled  him. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  the  girl  was  riding  to  the 
rendezvous  of  the  Dervishers  somewhere  to  the  east 
of  the  Pass,  and  that  in  their  numbers  she  would 
find  safety?  For  a  time  that  startled  him;  then  it 


RANGY   PETE  321 

soothed;  then  it  brought  fresh  anxiety.  For  Miss 
Dick,  among  the  Dervishers,  would  be  lost  to  him 
more  completely  than  as  though  the  butte  lands  had 
swallowed  her  up. 

With  this  anxiety  upon  him,  Rangy  watched 
sharply  the  dun  spaces  of  the  forward  trail;  and 
because  of  that  he  made  his  discovery,  in  the  advance 
of  the  afternoon  when  the  rays  of  the  sun  were 
already  slanting  and  were  biting  with  duller  tongue. 
It  was  simply  some  dark  object  lying  in  the  center 
of  the  trail.  Rangy  checked  the  cayuse  suddenly. 
A  gauntlet  lying  there  before  him!  A  gauntlet 
fringed  at  the  edge,  and  therefore  some  woman's 
toy!  And  to  whom  could  it  belong  other  than  Miss 
Dick?  But  why  should  the  girl's  glove  be  here  in 
the  middle  of  the  trail? 

Rangy  dismounted  and  picked  up  the  gauntlet; 
and  the  feel  of  it  brought  a  grin  to  his  lips.  It  would 
be  a  memento,  to  return  to  her  some  time,  in  the 
near  or  far-off  future.  It  would  - 

Rangy's  fingers  contracted  in  astonishment,  for 
between  their  tips  was  some  hard,  metallic  substance, 
caught  within  the  folds  of  the  gauntlet.  Swiftly  he 
shook  that  object  loose,  and  instantly  an  expression 
of  amusement  flashed  over  his  features,  for  that 
metallic  substance  was  nothing  less  than  a  gold  coin. 
Part  of  Merrill's  ten  thousand,  of  course!  But  what 
should  it  be  doing  here? 

Rangy's  eyes  roved  quickly  about  the  tumbled 


322  RANGY    PETE 

landscape  before  him,  but  within  the  limit  of  their 
gaze  there  was  nothing  but  the  drab,  sun-baked  walls 
of  the  cliffs  and  this  jumble  of  rock  which  littered 
the  trail. 

But  no!  There  was  more  than  that.  There  was 
this  scarred  face  of  the  trail  where  the  hoofs  of 
many  horses  had  flayed  it.  Miss  Dick  had  been 
held  up!  That  was  plain  now  to  an  intelligence 
trained  to  reading  the  significance  of  small  things. 
Held  up,  by  punchers  or  by  her  own  Dervishers? 
It  was  no  more  than  he  had  feared;  yet  now,  with 
its  surety  upon  him,  a  sudden  flush  of  anger  mottled 
his  cheeks.  Anger  towards  any  person  who  dared 
to  challenge  the  pathway  of  Miss  Dick! 

For  a  tune  Rangy  walked  about  the  rock-strewn 
trail,  and  this  action  eased  the  fever  of  his  brain 
until  he  was  able  to  laugh  at  his  own  folly.  Then 
he  returned  to  the  burnt-yellow  cayuse  and  resumed 
the  trail,  more  slowly,  more  cautiously  than  before. 

That  glove,  he  could  see  now  through  his  saner 
moments,  might  mean  any  one  of  many  things. 
It  might  be  a  taunt.  It  might  be  a  warning;  it  might 
be  a  cry  for  help. 

Towards  the  waning  of  the  afternoon  he  came  to 
the  divide  where  this  trail  ran  into  the  Pelican  draw. 
From  that  time  forward  he  moved  more  swiftly. 
The  Pelican,  he  feared,  must  be  peopled  with  many 
riders,  and  now  the  urge  was  upon  him  to  see  who 
were  those  riders  with  Miss  Dick,  and  to  learn  if 


RANGY    PETE  323 

that  message  of  the  gauntlet  were  an  appeal  or  a 
taunt. 

For  an  hour  he  rode  thus,  until  in  tune  the  whole 
world  about  him  began  to  change,  until  the  barren- 
ness of  the  buttes  gave  way  grudgingly  to  a  stunted 
tree  growth  which  seemed  to  spring  out  of  the  bare 
face  of  the  rock  itself.  As  he  rode  he  climbed  ever 
higher,  until  at  length  he  rounded  a  sharp  rock  in 
the  draw,  and  there  he  pulled  the  cayuse  to  its 
haunches  with  a  startled  jerk  at  the  reins. 

"Gosh  A'mighty!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  shore 
been  doing  good  work,  yellow  boy." 

For  there,  in  front  of  him,  toiling  up  the  opposite 
slope,  were  four  riders.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
that  one  of  them  was  Miss  Dick.  Riding  away  from 
him,  towards  the  Pass!  That,  according  to  the 
writing  of  the  plains,  could  mean  but  the  one  thing  - 
that  those  three  strange  riders  were  Dervishers,  and 
that  the  girl,  in  riding  into  the  trap  of  the  butte  lands, 
had  ridden  with  intent  and  in  full  knowledge  of  her 
motives. 

Rangy  became  more  than  ever  convinced  of  that 
as  the  minutes  dragged  away  into  an  hour,  and  as 
those  four  riders  continued  their  steady  tramp 
towards  the  retreat  beyond  the  Pass.  Through  that 
hour  he  trailed  them,  though  circumstances  com- 
pelled him  to  keep  such  a  discreet  distance  between 
them  that  he  was  able  to  read  but  little  meaning  into 
their  actions,  other  than  that  they  were  Dervishers 


324  RANGY    PETE 

making  their  way  into  the  safety  zone  of  those 
forested  hills  which  lay  beyond  the  rim  of  the  buttes. 

During  that  hour  he  came  to  the  juncture  of  the 
Pelican  and  the  Arrowhead  trails.  The  latter  draw 
was  a  narrow  one,  ambling  in  from  the  direction  of 
the  Double  K  and  the  Triangle  O  ranches,  and  like 
so  many  of  its  brethren  it  linked  up  with  the  Pelican 
on  this  main  route  through  to  the  Pass.  But  the 
Arrowhead,  Rangy  Pete  knew,  was  the  last  of  those 
converging  trails  which  bore  down  upon  this  one 
cut  through  the  southern  buttes,  so  that  a  man 
caught  between  this  juncture  point  and  the  Pass 
would  become  the  easy  victim  of  those  who  had 
trapped  him.  There  was  a  price  which  could  be 
taken,  of  course;  but  in  this  moment  of  crisis,  with 
the  lure  of  Miss  Dick  upon  him,  there  was  nothing 
in  the  price  of  battle  which  could  equal  one  glimpse 
of  her  oval  cheeks.  Yet  was  it  a  trap  after  all? 

The  calm  and  confident  manner  in  which  those 
four  Dervishers  made  their  unhurried  way  towards 
the  Pass,  would  seem  to  indicate  that  they  had  but 
little  to  fear.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  posses 
of  the  Snaky  Y  and  of  Triple  Butte  had  not  yet 
reached  this  point,  and  that  accordingly  the  route 
was  clear  all  the  way  through  to  the  forests  beyond? 
The  attitude  of  those  four  Dervishers  would  imply 
that.  Still,  the  northern  trail  which  he  and  Miss  Dick 
had  taken  from  Ike  Collander's  store  was  miles 
farther  than  the  direct  journey  to  Triple  Butte,  and 


RANGY    PETE  325 

unless  Merrill's  brain  really  had  been  befuddled  by 
the  fumes  of  anger,  this  trail  should  have  been 
blocked  hours  ago. 

Rangy  dismounted,  and  with  much  effort  he 
climbed  to  an  elevated  point  upon  the  cliffs  from 
where  he  could  get  a  vista  of  the  trails  behind  him. 
The  draw  he  had  just  ridden  was  clear  of  men  or  of 
horses,  but  Rangy  knew  there  was  nothing  in  that 
but  false  security.  There  were  so  many  sharp  dips 
and  sudden  valleys  and  queer  turnings  that  a  thou- 
sand men  might  well  be  hidden  within  the  range 
of  his  eye. 

But  the  Arrowhead  trail  at  the  right,  ambling 
listlessly  into  the  Pelican!  It  stretched  out  cleaner 
and  less  tangled  before  his  gaze,  so  that  from  this 
elevated  position  he  could  see  its  course  through 
long  stretches  of  sun-burned  trail.  For  minutes  he 
studied  those  open  areas,  with  hands  shading  his 
eyes,  and  with  his  trained  gaze  studying  even  the 
smaller  shadows.  In  the  end  he  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion which  was  partly  approval  and  partly  incom- 
prehension. 

"Shore,"  he  informed  himself,  "there's  another 
whole  flock  of  riders  coming  in  the  Arrowhead, 
miles  back!  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  why 
they  weren't  here  long  ago." 

Apparently,  so  far  as  he  could  now  judge,  he  was 
ahead  of  the  pursuing  posses.  Some  strange  whim  of 
fate  had  delayed  them.  But  it  did  not  matter  now. 


326  RANGY    PETE 

The  only  thing  which  counted  was  the  fact  that 
chance  had  brought  him  safety,  and  that  Miss  Dick 
was  off  there  just  a  short  distance  before  him;  and 
he  felt  that  if  he  played  the  game  cautiously,  he 
might  get  a  glimpse  of  her  face  once  more,  in  spite 
of  that  surrounding  bodyguard  of  Dervishers.  At 
the  worst,  he  could  follow  them  into  the  land  beyond 
the  buttes. 

When  Rangy  mounted  once  more  he  rode  swiftly, 
so  that  a  few  minutes  later,  when  he  rounded  a  curve 
in  the  draw,  he  was  obliged  to  jerk  the  burnt-yellow 
cayuse  to  a  slithering  halt.  For  the  four  Dervishers, 
in  the  calmness  of  their  characteristic  presumption, 
had  dismounted,  and  were  apparently  getting  ready 
for  a  meal  and  a  rest.  From  the  shelter  of  a  rock, 
Rangy  studied  the  situation  before  him. 

The  Dervishers  had  chosen  their  position  well. 
With  a  clear  stretch  of  the  valley  before  them,  they 
could  see  across  a  long  strip  of  the  Pelican  draw 
which  they  had  just  traveled,  and  accordingly  would 
be  well  warned  of  the  approach  of  any  of  those  pur- 
suing parties.  But  doubtless  this  halt  had  been 
chosen  because  of  some  queer  streak  of  innate 
daring;  perhaps  it  was  to  draw  the  pursuit  in  the 
direction  in  which  they  would  have  it  go;  but  what- 
ever might  be  the  strange  whim  of  the  Dervishers, 
there  was  another  thing  which  brought  greater 
torment  to  Rangy  Pete.  It  was  the  demand  that 
he  should  see  again  the  girl  who  had  mocked  him. 


RANGY    PETE  327 

Perhaps  chance  would  show  him  the  way  to  whisper 
a  few  words  to  tell  her  that  he  would  never  give  her 
up;  perhaps  even  he  might  steal  her  from  the  shelter 
of  those  attending  riders. 

With  the  thrill  of  that  thought  upon  him,  Rangy 
studied  carefully  the  formation  of  the  rock  of  the 
buttes.  A  moment  later  he  gave  a  little  exclamation 
of  content.  For  if  he  knew  anything  about  butte 
conformation,  the  twisting  of  this  trail  meant  that 
the  draw  must  almost  double  back  upon  itself  at  a 
point  just  a  few  yards  beyond  that  sentinel  tip  where 
the  four  Dervishers  had  taken  up  their  stand. 

Rangy  laughed  to  himself  softly.  It  would  be 
possible  for  him  to  climb  the  cliffs,  cross  the  top  of 
the  ledge,  and  swing  down  into  the  Pelican  draw 
at  a  point  past  the  position  of  the  Dervishers.  If  he 
could  not  approach  them  from  the  front,  across  this 
open  valley,  he  could  at  least  come  upon  them 
from  their  unguarded  side,  and  if,  perchance,  Miss 
Dick  — 

Rangy  worked  swiftly  as  he  discarded  unnecessary 
equipment  —  carrying  as  weapons  only  his  pair  of 
six-guns  and  an  extra  belt  of  cartridges  —  and  as  he 
climbed  the  shelving  face  of  the  draw.  Fifteen 
minutes  of  labor  put  him  at  the  top,  from  which 
point  he  could  look  across  the  thin  ridge;  and  the 
first  glance  told  him  that  he  had  been  right,  that 
the  trail  doubled  back  upon  itself.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  he  was  across  the  ridge,  and  was  looking 


328  RANGY    PETE 

down  upon  the  draw  at  a  strategic  position  between 
the  Dervishers  and  the  Pass. 

Slowly,  with  infinite  care,  RaDgy  began  the  descent. 
It  was  difficult,  more  difficult  than  the  climb  had 
been,  so  that  a  full  half  hour  had  slipped  away  before 
he  once  more  stood  in  the  rocky  trail  of  the  draw. 

The  need  for  haste  was  upon  him  now.  There 
had  been  much  lost  time,  so  much  that  at  any  minute 
those  four  riders  might  round  the  corner  of  the  trail. 
In  this  instant,  with  the  whole  future  hanging  upon 
the  margin  of  seconds,  Rangy  began  to  appreciate 
the  folly  of  his  undertaking.  He  was  here,  cut  off, 
horseless,  between  the  Dervishers  and  their  haunts, 
with  nothing  left  to  him  but  a  pair  of  derringers  and 
his  natural  wiles. 

He  must  hurry  now.  He  counted  the  seconds  as 
he  ran.  Doubtless  they  would  come  upon  him 
abruptly,  just  as  he  reached  that  corner  of  the  trail, 
perhaps  before.  Perhaps  those  Dervishers  would 
catch  him  here  in  the  open  of  the  draw! 

Rangy  ran  until  he  found  that  his  breath  was 
coming  in  quick,  stabbing  jerks.  This  would  never 
do.  It  left  his  hand  unsteady.  So,  deliberately,  with 
a  grip  of  his  will,  he  slackened  his  pace;  but  his 
eyes  never  strayed  from  that  turn  in  the  draw 
around  which  the  drab  noses  of  the  Dervisher  cayuses 
might  be  poked  at  any  second. 

A  hundred  paces  now!  Fifty!  There  was  the 
rock  before  him,  with  the  sharp  twist  in  the  trail. 


RANGY    PETE  329 

Rangy's  breath  came  firmer,  and  his  hand  gamed 
its  old,  iron  calm.  He  threw  his  sombrero  aside, 
and  he  peered  around  the  face  of  the  rock.  Then  a 
great  sigh  slipped  from  his  lips. 

That  party  of  four  were  not  even  preparing  for 
the  trail.  There  they  were,  directly  in  front  of  him, 
a  hundred  yards  or  more  away.  Their  backs  were 
towards  him,  and  they  seemed  to  be  studying  the 
distant  slopes  of  the  draw  along  which  they  had  so 
recently  journeyed.  They  were  watching,  doubtless, 
for  the  advancing  armies  of  Triple  Butte,  waiting 
to  taunt  them  even  as  the  girl  had  so  lately  taunted 
him. 

Rangy  abruptly  found  that  his  fingers  were 
clenching  savagely  along  the  butt  of  his  six-gun. 

"Jumping  mavericks!"  he  exclaimed,  under  his 
breath.  "There's  something  wrong." 

Even  at  a  hundred  yards  distant,  Miss  Dick's 
position  had  seemed  at  first  glance  to  be  too  rigid 
to  be  natural;  but  now?  —  he  was  quite  sure  of  it. 
Her  hands  were  tied  behind  her  back,  and  she  was 
tugging  slightly  at  her  bonds.  Or  was  she  rubbing 
the  rope  steadily  against  the  rock?  The  girl's  som- 
brero was  gone.  The  back  of  her  head  was  towards 
him,  and  he  could  see  that  little  wisps  of  her  corn- 
silk  hair  had  escaped  from  their  bonds  and  were 
floating  about  her  head  like  a  halo. 

The  three  men  were  in  front  of  her,  with  their 
backs  towards  her;  and  now,  when  one  of  them 


330  RANGY    PETE 

glanced  about,  the  girl  stopped  that  rubbing  move- 
ment of  her  hands.  Words  passed.  What  they 
were,  Rangy  could  not  say;  then  when  the  man 
turned  his  face  away,  to  study  the  trail  once  more, 
the  girl  resumed  that  chafing  movement  of  the  rope 
against  the  rock. 

In  that  instant,  the  flash  of  a  new  thought  came 
to  Rangy  Pete.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  Der- 
vishers  had  heard  of  his  meeting  with  Miss  Dick  at 
The  Crags?  Were  they  punishing  her  for  that ;  and 
if  so,  would  it  not  be  for  himself  they  were  watching 
that  back  trail  so  patiently?  Again  Rangy  laughed 
to  himself,  with  low,  cautious  elation. 

Then  the  man  who  had  spoken  to  Miss  Dick 
tossed  aside  his  sombrero,  and  he  shaded  his  eyes 
to  peer  into  the  east.  To  Rangy  Pete,  the  silhouette 
of  the  man's  back,  unhatted  as  he  was,  seemed 
somehow  vaguely  familiar.  But  he  could  not  place 
the  figure  in  his  memory.  Doubtless  it  would  be 
the  same  man  he  had  seen  in  the  doorway  of  Tony 
Burke's  saloon  but  a  few  days  ago;  it  would  be  one 
of  those  men  who  had  swaggered  —  then  the  man 
turned  again  to  speak  to  Miss  Dick,  and  again  the 
girl's  figure  drooped. 

"Gawd!"  The  feverish  exclamation  slipped  from 
Rangy  Pete's  lips,  and  he  stood  for  a  time  staring 
in  bewilderment. 

The  man's  profile  was  towards  him  now.  He 
could  see  the  outline  of  the  features  clearly.  He 


RANGY   PETE  331 

could  see  the  great  nose,  the  sharp  chin,  the  tangled 
wisp  of  hair  which  always  fell  down  over  the  man's 
forehead.  That  wisp  of  hair,  how  he  hated  it. 
If  only  he  could  forget  that  hatred,  for  the  man's 
face  was  not  strange  to  him.  Rangy 's  fingers  grew 
steady,  and  a  firm  smile  came  to  his  lips. 

That  man  who  was  leering  now  at  Miss  Dick, 
whose  smile  was  not  the  smile  which  any  man 
should  use  towards  a  woman,  had  a  face  and  a  figure 
which  were  familiar  to  him.  And  the  man  was  not 
a  bandit,  such  as  the  rangemen  defined  the  word. 
It  was  Bill  Sonnes.  Sonnes,  the  right-hand  man  of 
Dan  Merrill,  of  the  Snaky  Y.  Bill  Sonnes,  sitting 
there  leering  at  Miss  Dick  with  an  offensive  air  of 
possession!  Why  did  he  hate  the  man?  Sonnes, 
who  had  always  been  objectionable  —  Sonnes  who 
had  captured  Miss  Dick,  and  who  threatened  to 
spoil  his,  Rangy  Pete's,  plan  to  teach  the  bandit 
girl  that  there  are  codes  of  mankind  which  must  be 
respected.  Sonnes,  with  a  smirk  upon  his  face, 
leaning  now  just  a  trifle  towards  the  girl,  negligently, 
but  knowingly.  Sonnes,  with  that  ugly  big  nose 
and  the  ragged  wisp  of  hair,  smirking,  priding  him- 
self that  he  had  a  way  with  women  —  perhaps  he 
did  have  a  way  with  Shifty  Lizz  of  the  Burke  saloon 
-  but  with  this  girl,  a  bandit,  whose  hands  were 
tied  behind  her  back  — 

Rangy  Pete  found  that  it  was  with  an  effort  that 
he  kept  a  grip  upon  himself.   If  only  he  could  forget 


332  RANGY    PETE 

that  he  hated  the  man's  big  nose.  The  presumption 
of  Sonnes,  to  have  taken  a  captive  whom  he  had 
reserved  for  himself.  For  it  was  plain  that  Miss  Dick 
was  a  captive.  Even  now,  with  Sonnes'  face  turned 
again  to  the  east,  the  girl  was  once  more  chafing  the 
rope  against  the  rock.  She  wanted  her  freedom; 
that  was  evident. 

She  had  also  wanted  her  freedom  from  him,  and 
had  taken  it.  But  had  she  regretted  it?  She  had 
at  least  thrown  that  glove  upon  the  trail.  In  appeal, 
or  warning? 

Yet  for  Miss  Dick,  what  did  it  matter  whether 
he  or  Bill  Sonnes  were  her  captor?  Nothing,  except 
that  with  Sonnes  it  would  be  a  crude  enforcement 
of  the  law;  with  himself  it  would  be  the  exemplifica- 
tion of  a  code. 

The  two  men  with  Sonnes,  with  faces  turned  con- 
stantly to  the  east,  were  unfamiliar  in  their  pose. 
Doubtless  they  would  be  of  the  younger  clique  of 
the  Snaky  Y  men,  perhaps  whose  mettle  had  not 
been  tested  other  than  upon  the  ranges.  Tools  in 
the  hands  of  Sonnes,  no  doubt.  Otherwise  they 
would  not  have  held  their  gaze  so  steadily  upon  the 
east  while  Sonnes  ogled  the  captive  bandit. 

Abruptly  Rangy  found  himself  vaguely  wondering. 
These  three  men  had  captured  the  girl  many  miles 
back  along  the  trail.  Why  had  they  ridden  farther 
into  the  butte  land,  instead  of  turning  back  along 
the  route  to  Triple  Butte?  It  was  that  which  had 


RANGY    PETE  333 

misled  him,  which  had  made  him  believe  they  were 
bandits;  but  now  the  answer  was  plain.  They  were 
merely  waiting  for  the  belated  posses  to  join  them. 

Miss  Dick  abruptly  stopped  the  restless  movement 
of  her  wrists,  as  Sonnes  swung  about  until  his  leering 
lips  were  within  a  foot  of  the  girl's  face.  There  was 
a  searing  fire  burning  through  Rangy 's  veins;  yet 
through  it  he  was  able  to  summon  a  grim  smile  to 
his  lips. 

Sonnes,  the  fool,  smirking  at  the  bandit  girl!  It 
would  be  almost  justice,  upon  Sonnes,  if  Rangy 
were  to  step  aside.  If  only  he  could  loosen  those 
bonds  about  the  girl's  wrists,  and  then  leave  Sonnes 
to  her  mercy.  Sonnes,  the  ogler,  who  had  a  way 
with  women  —  that  would  be  a  fine  game  to  watch, 
Sonnes  against  Miss  Dick  —  Sonnes  at  the  mercy 
of  the  trickster  —  Sonnes,  being  warped  and  twisted, 
until  in  the  end  he  did  the  girl's  bidding  —  Sonnes, 
the  smirking  fool! 

Again  that  hot  racing  of  blood  through  Rangy's 
veins.  Sonnes,  with  the  huge,  ugly  nose,  and  that 
brazen,  legible  manner! 

That  distance  between  them  —  a  hundred  yards, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  boulders  which  perhaps 
would  turn  aside  an  angry  bullet !  A  hundred  yards, 
with  the  backs  of  four  people  towards  him! 

Another  warm  surge  of  blood  throbbed  in  his  veins 
as  Sonnes  elbowed  his  way  in  a  languid  pose  towards 
the  girl.  For  a  moment  the  blood  seemed  to  burn 


334  RANGY    PETE 

to  his  finger-tips,  and  he  found  there  a  strange  itching 
to  see  if  he  could  shoot  that  hundred  yards  and  kill 
Bill  Sonnes  with  a  single  shot.  But  that  would  be 
the  crude  way. 

Swiftly,  with  sudden  resolution,  Rangy  slipped 
his  boots  aside;  he  loosened  the  six-guns  in  either 
holster,  then  he  dropped  to  his  knees.  Slowly,  with 
elaborate  care,  he  began  to  crawl  towards  the  shadow 
of  the  nearest  boulder.  This  was  not  in  line  with 
the  course  of  the  draw.  So  much  the  better,  for  it 
threw  him  rather  more  towards  Sonnes'  back,  and 
less  within  his  line  of  vision  on  those  occasions  when 
the  man  smirked  at  Miss  Dick.  A  false  step,  the 
rattling  of  a  fragment  of  rock  —  that  would  mean 
battle  —  battle,  three  to  one,  with  the  girl  in  the 
line  of  his  fire.  For  a  moment  Rangy  hesitated. 
The  undertaking,  under  such  conditions,  was  folly, 
utter  folly.  Folly  only  in  case  he  made  that  rattling 
of  a  rock,  or  that  misstep. 

Slowly  he  crept  forward  again.  He  hugged  the 
ground,  dragging  his  body  snakelike  along,  brushing 
from  his  course  every  pebble  which  threatened 
danger.  Sonnes  in  front  of  him,  leering  more  per- 
sistently now,  more  confidently!  More  languid  and 
careless,  as  well,  as  he  leaned  intimately  towards  the 
girl.  How  the  blood  surged  in  Rangy 's  veins.  Except 
for  those  two  punchers,  whose  faces  and  whose 
reputations  were  unknown,  it  would  be  much  simpler 
to  end  it  all  with  one  swift  shot. 


RANGY    PETE  335 

Ninety  yards  now,  with  the  first  boulder  in  front 
of  him.  He  could  make  it  with  a  single  shot  —  Miss 
Dick  working  more  feverishly  at  those  lashings 
when  Sonnes'  face  was  turned  out  towards  the  east. 
Afraid,  was  she?  Alarmed  at  the  persistent  ogling 
of  Bill  Sonnes,  at  that  slow,  insinuating  manner 
with  which  he  was  bridging  the  distance  between 
them,  almost  imperceptibly,  meaningly. 

Twenty-five  yards  to  the  next  boulder,  a  larger 
one  where  he  could  rest  a  little  from  this  snakelike 
position  of  his  limbs,  a  boulder  which  threw  him 
still  more  behind  Sonnes'  back. 

Rangy  crept  forward  again.  This  time,  for  the 
half  of  the  distance,  Sonnes'  gaze  was  studying  the 
east,  and  the  girl's  hands  worked  with  steady  insis- 
tence. He  could  see  harder  lines  upon  her  face  when 
she  glanced  down  for  an  instant  in  a  vain  effort  to 
discover  what  progress  she  had  made;  and  for  the 
balance  of  the  distance,  while  Sonnes  watched  her 
insolently,  Rangy  could  see  the  contempt  in  the 
girl's  poise. 

Rangy  reached  the  boulder,  and  peered  out  eagerly. 
From  this  position  it  should  be  easier  now.  He  was 
almost  at  Sonnes'  back,  even  when  the  man  turned 
towards  the  girl.  But  there  was  danger,  he  felt,  in 
that  instinctive  sense  of  alarm  which  warns  all 
animals,  man  and  beast  alike,  a  latent  sense  which 
might  carry  its  message  to  Bill  Sonnes. 

There  was  the  possibility  that  Miss  Dick  might 


336  RANGY   PETE 

glance  around  in  those  moments  when  Sonnes'  face 
was  turned  away,  and  that  she  might  see  him.  Once 
or  twice  already  she  had  turned  her  head,  feverishly, 
hurriedly,  in  an  effort  to  look  at  those  lashed  bonds, 
but  she  had  not  raised  her  eyes.  Should  she  raise 
her  eyes  now  as  he  crawled  forward,  he  would  be 
directly  in  her  line  of  vision.  What  then? 

Again  Rangy  crawled  forward.  He  must  take  his 
chance  that  Miss  Dick  would  prefer  him  as  a  captor 
rather  than  Sonnes. 

Steadily,  with  patient  persistence,  with  sounds 
so  slight  that  he  scarcely  heard  his  own  movements, 
Rangy  Pete  crawled  forward,  from  boulder  to 
boulder,  and  still  Sonnes  continued  to  bask  in  the 
girl's  presence.  Still  the  backs  of  the  well  trained 
punchers  remained  turned  towards  Sonnes  and  his 
quarry,  and  now  that  Rangy  had  drawn  so  close, 
he  could  see  that  there  was  a  gap  of  a  good  ten  yards 
between  Sonnes  and  the  others. 

Twenty-five  yards  distant  now! 

A  shot  in  the  back?  No!  In  the  past  few  minutes, 
he  had  grown  to  hate  Sonnes  too  much  for  that.  He 
had  grown  to  hate  the  man's  reptilian  manner,  that 
nameless  something  which  showed  in  his  whole 
pose.  A  shot  in  the  back  would  not  be  enough  for 
Bill  Sonnes. 

A  steady  look  in  the  eye  would  be  much  better  - 
a  steady   look   which   would   warn   Sonnes   of   the 
inevitable  call  of  Death,  a  look  which  would  give  to 


RANGY   PETE  337 

him  at  least  one  moment  of  terror  of  the  future.  To 
die  suddenly  would  not  be  enough  for  the  man  whose 
manner  could  insinuate  such  things  to  a  girl  with 
hands  lashed  behind  her  back.  He  had  earned,  as 
well,  a  period  of  horror  through  which  he  must  con- 
template the  surety  of  Death. 

The  thought  of  that  left  Rangy 's  fingers  itching 
still  more.  Miss  Dick  turned  her  face  aside,  and 
there  was  hatred,  and  some  terror,  in  her  pose.  He 
could  see  that  now;  just  twenty  yards  away. 

He  must  look  into  Bill  Sonnes'  eyes  first,  before 
the  battle  came.  And  yet  there  were  two  punchers 
just  ten  yards  beyond  Bill  Sonnes. 

Rangy  crawled  forward  with  still  greater  caution. 
It  would  not  be  a  sound  now  which  would  warn 
Sonnes.  It  would  be  a  message  of  that  hatred  which 
was  burning  in  his  heart. 

Twenty  yards  more.  Miss  Dick  turned  suddenly. 
The  message  of  a  presence  had  reached  her.  She 
glanced  up,  and  her  eyes  met  his.  For  the  merest 
fraction  of  time  it  seemed  that  the  girl's  eyes  were 
puzzled;  then  a  swift  change  swept  over  them,  whose 
meaning  Rangy  could  not  read.  She  turned  her  face 
away  just  in  time  to  meet  Bill  Sonnes'  glance. 

She  met  the  man's  glance  fairly,  and  for  the  first 
time  since  Rangy  had  watched  them,  Miss  Dick  made 
some  faint  response  to  Sonnes'  advances.  She  leaned 
towards  him  just  a  little,  and  when  the  man  stretched 
forward  more  eagerly  than  he  had  yet  done,  the 


338  RANGY    PETE 

movement  threw  his  back  still  more  towards  Rangy 
Pete.  In  Rangy's  heart  there  was  a  strange  thrill 
of  admiration  for  the  girl's  quick  wit,  mixed  with  a 
deeper  conviction  of  hatred  for  the  man  Sonnes. 

If  only  the  girl  would  continue  to  play  the  part 
she  had  suddenly  chosen,  he  would  still  look  Death 
into  the  man's  eyes. 

Rangy  pulled  his  body  forward  with  barely  more 
sound  than  was  made  by  the  passing  breath  of  air. 
Looking  across  the  shoulder  of  the  man  Sonnes,  he 
could  see  into  the  girl's  face.  She,  in  turn,  was 
looking  at  Sonnes,  and  even  as  Rangy  watched,  he 
could  see  the  suggestion  of  an  encouraging  smile 
creeping  into  her  eyes.  Playing  her  part,  admirably, 
cleverly.  Sonnes  reached  out  his  arms,  and  still 
the  smile  lingered  about  Miss  Dick's  eyes.  He  must 
hurry  now,  if  he  were  to  save  the  girl  from  the  dis- 
grace of  Bill  Sonnes'  arms. 

Ten  yards  now,  eight,  five.  He  dare  not  risk 
more,  for  even  as  he  pulled  himself  into  a  sitting 
posture,  Sonnes'  arms  were  closing  about  I  he  girl. 
Beyond  him,  the  two  punchers  still  sat  like  statuettes, 
careless  of  the  scene  behind  them. 

Three  to  one!  A  smile  came  to  Rangy  Pete's  heart, 
though  his  lips  were  straight  and  firm  as  he  lay  one 
six-gun  across  the  curve  of  his  hip.  Then  he  tapped 
lightly  upon  the  rock  with  the  knuckles  of  his  left 
hand.  Still  Sonnes  did  not  heed,  the  crudeness  of 
his  senses  being  wrapped  up  in  a  contemplation  of 


RANGY    PETE  339 

what  this  sudden  yielding  of  Miss  Dick  might  mean 
to  him. 

Rangy  tapped  more  loudly.  The  faint  sound 
carried  through  the  short  space  and  it  reached  Sonnes' 
brain.  His  unclosed  arms  dropped  swiftly  from 
about  the  girl,  his  body  jerked  back  a  foot  or  two, 
and  he  shot  one  swift  glance  across  his  shoulder. 

As  his  eyes  met  the  stern  glance  of  Rangy  Pete, 
they  held  there  for  a  swift  moment  of  astonishment. 
Then  the  astonishment  vanished,  and  there  came  a 
quick  realization  of  the  position  in  which  he  found 
himself. 

Five  yards  away  was  Rangy  Pete,  looking  into 
his  eyes  that  cold,  unmistakable  message,  which 
meant  the  ending  of  all  feuds,  the  ending  of  life  and 
of  all  things  else  —  for  one  of  the  two. 

The  end  of  all  things  for  one  of  them !  And  Rangy 
Pete  held  over  him  that  thin  edge  of  advantage 
which  may  mean  life  or  death  when  desperate  men 
face  each  other  across  the  cold  muzzles  of  weapons. 

Yet  only  ten  yards  away  were  two  men.  One  word 
of  warning,  just  the  lifting  of  his  voice,  and  those 
two  men  would  be  here,  fighting  at  his  side.  But 
Bill  Sonnes  knew  the  futility  of  that  one  word  of 
warning.  Rangy  Pete's  eyes  told  him  that.  They 
told  him  that  no  matter  what  the  world  might  hold 
for  the  rest  of  mankind,  it  held  nothing  for  him  but 
this  short  moment  of  terror  through  which  he  must 
contemplate  the  cold  approach  of  Death  —  Death, 


340  RANGY    PETE 

stealing  upon  him,  looking  into  his  face  from  the 
eyes  of  Rangy  Pete,  a  cold,  merciless  death,  just  as 
cold  and  unscrupulous  as  he  had  felt  a  moment  ago 
towards  the  girl  at  his  side.  She  had  been  his  prey. 
And  now  —  God  in  Heaven,  but  he  knew  the  game 
of  Rangy  Pete! 

One  word,  the  faintest  sound  of  warning,  and 
Rangy  would  shoot  him  down  coldly.  But  he  knew 
it  was  not  for  that  word  of  warning  that  Rangy 
was  waiting.  It  was  for  that  instinctive  jerk  of 
Sonnes'  fingers  which  would  tell  him  that  an  enemy 
was  reaching  for  his  gun. 

There  before  him  sat  Rangy  Pete,  with  the  horror 
of  a  blank  future  in  his  eyes.  His  gun  was  not  in 
sight,  but  Sonnes  felt  that  it  could  not  be  far  from 
that  right  hand  which  dangled  so  carelessly  at  his 
side.  Rangy  Pete  was  a  fool,  even  to  take  his  hand 
from  his  gun.  That  was  not  what  he  would  have 
done.  He  would  not  have  sat  thus,  torturing  another 
with  the  surety  of  death. 

How  his  fingers  itched  to  reach  for  his  gun.  How 
his  tongue  quivered  to  shriek  out  a  warning.  Yet 
either  act  meant  death.  God !  Death,  with  a  scurvy 
past  tormenting  him  already  with  its  memories. 

To  move!  To  speak!  If  only  he  dared  to  take  his 
gaze  away  from  Rangy  Pete's  face.  So  that  was 
Rangy 's  game.  He  knew  it  now.  It  was  an  old  game 
which  he  himself  had  tried  upon  more  than  one  of 
his  victims.  It  was  that  old,  cruel  game  of  badgering 


RANGY    PETE  341 

the  other  man,  until,  in  desperation,  he  drew  for  his 
weapon.  In  swift  memory,  the  faces  of  men  leaped 
before  him,  men  whom  he  had  tortured  in  just  this 
same  way.  One  of  them  had  been  a  youth,  a  mere 
youth.  He  could  see  even  now  the  whiteness  which 
came  to  that  youth's  cheeks,  the  cold  sweat  of  death 
which  leaped  to  his  forehead  when  first  he  came  to 
realize  Bill  Sonnes'  purpose.  And  now  he,  Sonnes, 
was  staring  that  same  death  in  the  face,  in  just  the 
same  way.  God!  The  torture  of  it!  The  horror! 

He  did  not  want  to  die.  Life,  just  a  moment  ago, 
had  been  too  keenly  athrill  with  promise.  It  had 
been  whispering  to  him  strange  things,  promising 
him  a  taste  of  those  joys  which  he  knew  must  be 
found  somewhere  upon  the  pages  of  the  life  of  man. 

Death,  staring  him  in  the  face.  The  joy  of  stolen 
fruits,  mean,  sordid  fruits,  the  joy  of  their  promise 
—  and  now — Death  staring  at  him! 

If  only  he  dared  to  reach  for  his  gun,  he  might 
beat  Rangy  to  the  draw.  If  only  he  dared  to  shout 
aloud,  he  might  distract  Rangy 's  attention  by  the 
confusion  of  numbers.  If  only  he  had  the  courage 
to  sit  still  and  stare  back  at  Rangy  Pete. 

Suddenly  some  of  the  fear  left  Sonnes'  face,  and 
in  its  place  came  cunning.  Why  had  he  not  thought 
of  the  way  out  before? 

"I'll  surrender,"  he  whispered  in  a  thin  voice 
which  barely  reached  Rangy  Pete. 

A  look  of  disgust  flashed  over  Rangy's  features. 


342  RANGY    PETE 

He  was  conscious  that  in  this  moment  the  thin 
margin  of  advantage  had  slipped  from  him.  Instinct 
told  him  that  treachery  lurked  behind  the  mild 
tone  of  Bill  Sonnes;  but  the  code  of  the  plains  forbade 
violence  towards  a  man  who  yields. 

"You  pore  idiot,  what  you  wanta  go  and  do  that 
for?"  he  returned  in  a  peevish  whisper.  "All  right. 
Hands  up." 

Sonnes  began  to  raise  his  hands  slowly,  cautiously, 
but  some  thread  of  sound  or  some  message  of  Rangy's 
presence  must  have  been  carried  to  those  watchers 
beyond.  For  abruptly  one  of  them  turned  about 
and  glanced  curiously  over  his  shoulder.  He  was  a 
middle-aged  man,  with  features  seamed  with  the 
life  of  the  plains.  For  a  small  fraction  of  time  he 
stared,  then  a  low  exclamation  escaped  his  lips. 
That  sound  reached  Bill  Sonnes.  It  reached  Rangy 
Pete.  It  drew,  as  well,  the  gaze  of  a  much  younger 
man  at  his  side,  a  mere  youth. 

With  a  quick,  darting  glance,  Rangy's  eyes  left 
Sonnes.  He  knew  the  folly  of  that.  He  knew  the 
trickery  of  Sonnes.  He  knew  the  fatality  of  events 
which  were  sweeping  down  upon  him  in  swift  crisis. 

Even  as  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  older  man  for 
an  instant,  even  before  they  flashed  away  again, 
Rangy  was  conscious  that  Sonnes'  right  hand  had 
begun  that  downward  sweep  which  meant  battle. 

Instantly  Sonnes'  voice  cut  sharply  through  the 
silence. 


RANGY    PETE  343 

"At  him  boys!    Fast!" 

The  flash  of  instinct  rushed  Rangy  Pete  into  battle. 
Chance  had  swept  all  other  choice  from  him. 

Sonnes'  fingers  were  working  now  with  their  old 
swift  skill,  with  the  goad  of  fear  in  the  brain  which 
drove  them  on.  And  Rangy  felt  that  he  had  lost 
that  thin  margin  of  advantage  which  had  been  his. 
There  was  but  the  one  chance,  one  chance  to  do 
battle  against  three.  And  that  was  his  sidelong 
fling,  with  its  shot  from  the  ground. 

Even  as  Sonnes'  gun  whipped  into  sight,  Rangy 
flung  his  body  sideways,  to  carry  him  farther  from 
the  girl,  and  as  he  sprawled  at  length  upon  the 
ground  he  fired  across  his  hip.  At  the  same  instant 
Sonnes'  gun  barked,  and  he  felt  the  whine  of  the 
bullet  as  it  cut  through  the  air  at  the  place  where 
his  body  had  been  but  a  second  before.  Sonnes  fired, 
just  the  once,  then  his  body  sagged  sluggishly  to 
one  side,  and  past  him,  in  the  open  space  beyond, 
Rangy  caught  sight  of  the  two  punchers. 

The  one,  the  youth,  was  staring  in  amazement. 
The  other,  the  middle-aged  man  with  the  grim  face, 
was  drawing  his  gun,  and  so  swift  had  been  the 
passage  of  time  that  his  fingers  had  not  yet  reached 
the  butt  protruding  from  the  holster. 

Rangy  fired  again,  from  the  ground.  The  six-gun 
dropped  clattering  from  the  man's  hand. 

"Put  'em  up,  Kid,"  Rangy  spoke  crisply.  "They's 
times  when  it's  a  heap  better  to  start  wavin'  towards 


344  RANGY    PETE 

yore  future  home  on  high  than  it  is  to  go  a  clawin' 
fer  a  gun.  And  this  is  one  of  them  times  —  that's 
better,  Kid.  If  you  wasn't  so  young  and  tender, 
I  might  go  to  shooting  you  up  a  bit,  but  mabbe  it 
ain't  yore  fault  that  you  been  flockin'  about  with 
coyotes  like  Bill  Sonnes.  Now  keep  'em  there,  Kid, 
and  you'll  most  mabbe  live  to  tell  the  youngsters 
all  about  how  you  got  held  up  once  by  a  real  bad 
man." 

As  Rangy  talked,  he  rose  to  his  feet  briskly, 
crossed  over  and  took  possession  of  all  the  visible 
weapons. 

"Got  any  guns  hid  out  on  me,  gents?"  he 
demanded,  and  the  older  man  hurried  an  assurance 
that  they  were  weaponless. 

"Then  you  ain't  learned  all  you  mighta  learned 
from  that  coyote,"  Rangy  declared.  "Youse  two 
gents  just  herd  yoreselves  together  and  don't  get 
frisky  while  I  attends  to  some  other  business." 

Rangy's  other  business  happened  to  be  a  visit  to 
Miss  Dick.  He  stooped  over  without  looking  into 
her  face,  and  cut  the  lashings  from  her  wrists. 

"You'll  have  to  'skuse  me,  Miss,  for  hornin'  my 
way  into  this  little  party,  but  I  kinda  got  the  idea 
that  them  punchers  wasn't  being  nice  to  you.  If  I 
made  a  mistake,  all  you  gotta  do  is  show  me  the 
door." 

"I  think  you  had  better  stay  and  look  after  the 
men  you  shot,"  Miss  Dick  returned,  with  an  attempt 


RANGY    PETE  345 

at  calmness  which  did  not  entirely  conceal  her  relief 
at  the  turn  of  events.  "That  person  looks  as  though 
he  was  dead." 

Rangy  crossed  over  to  the  tumbled  heap  which 
had  once  been  Bill  Sonnes,  which  had  looked  so 
daringly  at  the  captive  girl.  He  stooped  over,  put 
his  hand  inside  Sonnes'  shirt,  then  faced  Miss  Dick 
again. 

"They's  only  one  guess,  Miss,"  he  spoke  humbly, 
"and  you've  got  it  right.  Now  I'll  be  looking  after 
this  other  gent  what  stepped  in  front  of  something 
hard.  Gosh  A'mighty!  " 

The  exclamation  was  due  to  the  action  of  the 
youthful  puncher  who  was  now  running  across  the 
narrow  strip  of  trail  between  them  and  the  cayuses. 
Almost  as  Rangy  looked,  he  leaped  to  the  back  of 
one  of  the  animals  and  began  to  race  towards  that 
sharp  rock  marking  the  turn  in  the  trail  around 
which  Rangy  had  so  recently  stalked  them.  Rangy 
stooped,  picked  up  a  Winchester  from  the  pile  of 
arms,  and  followed,  on  foot. 

When  he  crossed  that  hundred  yards  and  stood 
looking  into  the  straight  trail  beyond,  he  saw  that 
the  youthful  rider  was  a  bare  hundred  yards  ahead 
of  him. 

Rangy  raised  the  rifle,  and  through  the  sights  he 
caught  the  clear  outline  of  the  flying  figure.  He  saw, 
as  well,  that  the  youth  turned  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  and  even  at  that  distance  he  fancied  he 


346  RANGY   PETE 

could  read  the  wave  of  fright  which  suddenly  swept 
over  the  other's  features. 

With  a  sigh,  Rangy  Pete  lowered  the  rifle  and 
stood  looking  at  the  figure  flying  before  him. 

Shortly  there  was  a  faint  noise  at  his  side,  and 
when  he  swung  about  quickly  he  saw  Miss  Dick 
looking  at  him  curiously. 

"You  could  have.  Why  didn't  you?"  she 
demanded,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  seeks  for 
knowledge. 

"Never  could  hit  anything  on  the  move,"  Rangy 
evaded. 

"Was  it  because  he  was  so  young?"  the  girl 
insisted,  ignoring  the  obvious  evasion. 

"Let's  go  back  and  see  if  any  more  of  them's  got 
the  running  habit,"  he  evaded  for  the  second  time. 
"I  s'pose  we'd  soon  better  be  on  the  move,  because 
Merrill's  army  ain't  so  far  behind." 

The  girl  followed  beside  him  as  he  returned  to  the 
scene  of  recent  battle,  and  there  they  found  the 
middle-aged  puncher  sitting  on  the  ground  trying 
to  bandage  his  wounded  wrist. 

"Needin'  help,  pard?"  Rangy  asked;  then  he 
bent  over  and  assisted  the  man  to  rearrange  the 
bandages.  When  he  completed  the  work,  he  again 
found  Miss  Dick's  eyes  upon  him  curiously. 

"As  I  been  sayin',  Miss,  we'd  better  be  slopin'," 
Rangy  made  haste  to  forestall  any  questioning. 
"Smithers,  you  stay  here  and  keep  a  wake  over  Bill 


RANGY    PETE  347 

Sonnes.  You'll  skuse  me,  pard,  if  I  take  the  liberty 
of  taking  yore  arsenal  along  with  me.  How  soon  can 
you  be  ready,  Miss?" 

"Where  are  you  taking  me?"  she  asked  quietly. 
"Back  to  Triple  Butte,  as  you  said  you  would  do?" 

"Shore.  I  ain't  gonna  break  no  promises.  But 
first  of  all  we  gotta  be  moochin'  it  out  of  the  way 
of  Dan  Merrill's  army.  He's  a  curious  cuss,  that 
Merrill.  He  mightn't  understand  why  Bill  Sonnes 
is  a  lyin'  there  all  crumpled  up  and  why  Smithers 
won't  be  good  for  anything  for  two-three  months. 
He's  impetuous  like,  and  apt  to  be  resentful.  So, 
Miss,  we'll  be  joggin'  along,  soon's  you  are  ready." 

"I  am  ready  now,"  the  girl  returned  quietly. 

"Then  if  you  wait  till  I  get  Yeller  Boy,  we'll  be 
ridin'  right  along."  Rangy  spoke  as  he  started  out. 

The  yellow  cayuse  was  hidden  beyond  a  bend 
in  the  trail,  so  it  was  quite  possible,  he  appreciated, 
that  when  he  returned,  Miss  Dick  might  once  more 
be  making  a  natural  move  in  search  for  freedom. 
He  had  played  fair  with  her.  He  had  told  her  of  his 
unaltered  purpose.  He  had  given  her  a  chance  to 
escape. 

Yet  when  again  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  recent 
scene  of  struggle,  he  knew  that  Miss  Dick  had  not 
taken  advantage  of  his  absence.  By  the  time  he 
reached  camp,  she  was  mounted  upon  her  cayuse 
and  was  waiting  somewhat  impatiently  to  make  a 
start. 


348  RANGY    PETE 

"We'll  be  following  the  little  boy  cow-puncher 
to  see  that  he  don't  get  into  no  danger,"  Rangy 
tried  to  speak  lightly  though  he  was  conscious  of  a 
strain.  "Look  after  things,  Smithers,  till  we  get 
back." 

Side  by  side  they  rounded  the  sharp  rock  in  the 
trail  which  led  onward  to  the  Pass,  and  the  moment 
they  were  beyond  sight  of  the  back  trail,  Miss  Dick 
asked : 

"You  say  there  is  a  Merrill  army  behind  us?" 

"They  shore  is.  A  big  one.  Must  be  most  nigh 
fifty  riders,  not  more'n  two  hours  back  of  us  - 

Rangy  found  himself  interrupted  by  a  low  ripple 
of  laughter,  laughter  without  merriment. 

"What's  troublin'  you,  girl?" 

"Nothing,  except  that  there  is  a  Merrill  army  in 
front  of  us  as  well.  That  is  where  that  boy  rider 
has  gone." 

"Gosh  A'mighty,"  Rangy  exclaimed.  "You  sure 
of  that?" 

Miss  Dick  nodded,  and  in  the  quick  jerk  of  her 
head  Rangy  recognized  a  sudden  consciousness  of 
power. 

"How  far  in  front  of  us?"  he  asked  slowly,  aware 
that  in  the  mere  asking  he  lost  some  of  his  pose  of 
self-reliance.  "Which  way  are  they  riding?" 

"Four  or  five  miles.  It  isn't  more  than  that  to 
the  Pass,"  Miss  Dick  returned,  and  the  strange 
lights  in  her  eyes  had  abruptly  become  an  acknowl- 


RANGY   PETE  349 

edgment  of  Rangy's  dependence  upon  her  knowl- 
edge. "I  expect  they're  hiding  somewhere  around 
the  Pass,  if  they  haven't  found  out  already  that  the 
Dervishers  all  got  through  last  night.  If  they've 
found  that  out,  that  boy  cow-puncher  will  probably 
meet  some  of  them  coming  back  — 

Miss  Dick  paused  abruptly,  and  the  sidelong 
glance  of  her  eyes,  the  queer  little  twist  to  her  lips, 
were  a  challenge  to  his  boast  of  efficiency.  For  a 
brief  space  she  watched  him,  and  as  Rangy  Pete 
did  not  take  up  the  unfinished  sentence,  she  put 
that  challenge  into  words. 

"They  have  us  trapped  on  both  sides.  How  are 
you  going  to  get  us  out,  Mr.  Rangy  Pete?" 

There  was  the  barest  suggestion  of  lingering  over 
the  word  us;  yet  that,  he  felt  quite  sure,  was  nothing 
but  mockery.  But  there  was  an  appealing  something 
in  her  manner  of  which  he  could  not  be  quite  so 
certain. 

Still,  he  could  not  answer  the  girl's  question,  for 
she  had  stated  obvious  truths.  He  knew  there  was 
an  army  behind.  She  said  there  was  an  army  in 
front.  The  only  other  way  of  escape  was  over  the 
face  of  the  buttes;  and  in  his  brief  climb  of  some 
minutes  ago  he  had  learned  the  futility  of  attempting 
to  escape  over  the  top  of  the  world.  That  in  the 
end  must  mean  death,  slow  death  from  thirst  and 
starvation.  If  it  were  possible  to  take  cay  uses  along, 
there  might  be  a  hope;  but  to  climb  those  buttes 


350  RANGY    PETE 

alone,  to  face  the  cold  of  the  nights,  the  blistering 
heat  of  the  days,  to  stumble  on  and  on,  knowing 
not  the  way,  waiting  only  for  death  - 

Rangy  Pete  shook  his  head  suddenly. 

"Then  tell  me  why  you  rescued  me  from  that 
horrible  puncher  you  called  Sonnes,"  Miss  Dick 
spoke  more  crisply. 

For  the  barest  fraction  of  a  minute,  as  Rangy's 
gaze  wandered  over  the  features  of  the  girl  before 
him,  as  he  noticed  again  the  shimmer  of  her  hair, 
the  firm,  full  lines  of  her  features,  as  he  studied  for 
an  instant  the  deep  blue  of  her  eyes,  there  flashed 
into  his  mind  a  thought  which  in  the  past  few  hours 
had  not  been  a  stranger  to  him  —  that  Miss  Dick, 
under  other  conditions,  must  really  be  one  of  the 
greatest  prizes  which  earth  could  give  to  man.  He 
knew  that  for  an  instant  that  thought  softened  the 
lines  of  his  features  which  he  had  hoped  to  keep 
firm;  so  he  answered  quickly,  lightly - 

"You  shore  didn't  think  I'd  let  Bill  Sonnes  take 
you  back  to  Triple  Butte,  when  I'd  promised  to 
take  you." 

"That  is  the  only  reason,  so  you  could  keep  that 
foolish  promise  of  yours?" 

"Certain,"  Rangy  nodded  deliberately. 

"You  lie.  Now  how  are  you  going  to  get  me  out 
of  this?" 

Miss  Dick  spoke  impatiently,  but  for  some  strange 
reason  which  Rangy  did  not  stop  to  analyze,  her 


RANGY    PETE  351 

abrupt  violence  of  tongue  brought  to  him  a  memory 
of  that  old  thrill  which  had  once  warmed  the  blood 
of  him  in  her  presence.  She  knew  that  there  had 
been  something  personal  in  that  rescue,  that  he  was 
not  merely  the  machine  —  Gad,  but  he  was  merely 
a  machine,  trying  to  teach  to  her  — 

"I  asked  you  how  you  are  going  to  get  me  out 
of  this,"  the  voice  insisted  at  his  side. 

"  Seeing  that  I'm  dead  certain  they's  a  big  enough 
army  behind  us  to  gobble  us  up,  we'll  be  movin* 
on  ahead.  Come  along." 

Miss  Dick  responded  with  alacrity.  She  urged 
her  cayuse  forward,  and  a  minute  later  they  were 
cantering  briskly  along  the  butte  land  draw.  Uncon- 
sciously, as  though  born  to  the  ranks  of  those  who 
rule,  the  girl  took  the  lead.  Rangy  was  content  that 
she  should  do  so.  For  that  permitted  him  to  watch 
the  shimmer  of  her  hair,  the  quick  little  fling  of  her 
shoulders,  the  arrogant  poise  of  her  head,  the  lithe- 
ness  of  her  figure,  and  the  hundred  and  one  other 
things  about  her  which  made  up  that  attractiveness 
of  which  before  he  had  been  but  vaguely  conscious. 
Now,  he  was  more  than  conscious  of  it.  There  was 
an  intensity  to  that  consciousness  which  brought  a 
feeling  of  constriction  about  his  heart,  a  slight 
burning  in  his  veins,  a  racing  of  his  blood,  which 
made  him  suddenly  glad  that  Bill  Sonnes'  arms 
had  not  closed  about  her.  There  was  a  smothering 
sensation  in  his  breast,  which  left  a  slight  haze  in 


352  RANGY    PETE 

his  brain.  But  that  would  be  the  result  of  his  per- 
sistent efforts  through  two  days  and  a  night.  Surely 
bodily  weakness  was  not  seizing  him  now,  at  the 
moment  when  most  he  needed  strength.  Still,  that 
tightening  of  the  chest,  that  smothering  feeling  did 
not  leave  him  —  if  anything  it  grew  more  acute 
when  he  caught  the  strange,  challenging  lights  in 
Miss  Dick's  eyes  as  she  glanced  at  him  from  time 
to  time  over  her  shoulder.  There  was  something 
queer  in  the  girl's  eyes.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
she,  too,  was  breaking  down  under  the  strain  of 
their  long  activity?  Queer  that  he  had  not  thought 
of  that  before.  For  her  activity  had  been  as  pro- 
longed as  his.  Strange  lights  in  Miss  Dick's  eyes! 
Smiling  even,  to  herself.  Yes,  they  were  both  break- 
ing down  under  the  strain.  Beautiful,  even,  when 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  played  upon  her  in  this 
manner.  Yes,  he  was  glad  now  that  he  had  shot 
Bill  Sonnes.  That  had  been  an  evil  leer  upon 
Sonnes'  lips;  that  had  been  an  evil  thought  which 
stretched  out  the  man's  arms  in  embrace.  How 
Rangy's  blood  raced  warmly  as  he  thought  of  that. 
Of  course  it  would  be  mountain  fever  which  had 
taken  a  grip  of  him.  Was  it  that  fever  which  made 
him  fancy  that  the  girl's  eyes  were  shining  when  she 
looked  back  at  him,  or  was  it  the  way  the  gleam  of 
the  sun-rays  caught  them?  How  bronzed  were  the 
girl's  arms;  how  perfectly  she  sat  the  saddle.  That 
did  not  speak  of  weariness. 


RANGY    PETE  353 

"Have  you  quite  decided  where  you  are  going  to 
take  me?"  Miss  Dick's  voice  brought  him  back  to 
an  abrupt  consciousness  that  there  was  a  problem 
before  him.  Strange;  but  for  a  moment  he  had  quite 
forgotten  it. 

"We  will  have  to  take  a  chance  that  no  one 
catches  us  before  dark.  Shorely  we'll  be  able  to  slip 
by  them  in  the  night." 

"It  will  be  moonlight,"  the  girl  called  back,  as 
she  urged  her  cayuse  forward. 

It  would  be  moonlight,  with  the  shimmering 
moonlight  of  the  butte  lands  which  would  search 
out  every  nook  and  cranny,  which  would  close  every 
avenue  of  escape  unless  chance  should  play  a  part. 
Rangy  was  beginning  to  appreciate  his  helplessness 
in  the  face  of  circumstances,  when  the  girl  spoke  again. 

"  Besides,  they  will  be  after  you  long  before  dark. 
At  the  most,  you  have  the  time  it  will  take  a  man 
to  ride  four  miles  and  back  again." 

Rangy  did  not  answer.  Escape,  for  a  man  alone, 
might  be  possible.  He  shook  his  head  doggedly, 
almost  angrily,  at  the  dun  walls  of  the  buttes  which 
stood  up  cold  and  impassive,  careless  of  the  problems 
of  man,  indifferent  to  his  future,  but  holding  him 
nevertheless  to  this  narrow  pathway  along  which 
the  punchers  must  shortly  ride. 

"Have  you  anything  to  suggest?"  the  girl 
demanded,  with  another  backward  glance  over  her 
shoulder. 


354  RANGY    PETE 

The  girl's  eyes  were  sparkling.  Almost,  he  fancied, 
there  was  delight  in  their  depths,  delight  in  his 
inefficiency  in  this  emergency. 

"I  got  a  couple  of  six-guns  and  a  Winchester," 
he  returned. 

"Silly,"  the  girl  laughed.    "Is  that  all?" 

"It's  good  for  a  half  dozen  of  them  Merrill 
riders." 

"Don't  boast,  for  they  would  bury  you  before 
morning,  if  they  bothered  to  bury  you  at  all.  Is 
that  all?" 

"Somethin's  bound  to  turn  up,"  Rangy  replied, 
though  conscious  of  the  girl's  increasing  delight. 

"Then  you  admit  you  are  stumped?"  Miss  Dick 
insisted.  "Yet,  if  I  were  alone,  the  matter  for  me 
would  be  simple  - 

Rangy  jerked  the  burnt-yellow  cayuse  to  a  sliding 
stop. 

"  They  ain't  nothin'  like  considerin'  yoreself  alone, 
Miss.  If  you  know  a  way  to  get  outa  this  mess,  I'll 
shore  be  turnin'  my  back." 

Miss  Dick's  cayuse  stopped  some  ten  paces 
beyond  him. 

"I  wasn't  saying  that  I  wanted  to  be  alone,"  she 
laughed  softly.  "I  was  just  hinting  that  sometimes 
when  a  man  falls  down,  perhaps  a  woman  could  find 
the  way  through." 

"Well?"  Rangy  questioned,  and  he  began  to 
wonder  if  it  would  be  objectionable  after  all  to  be 


RANGY    PETE  355 

dependent  upon  this  girl,  whose  soul  had  been  nur- 
tured by  the  iron  of  the  buttes,  but  whose  eyes  were 
now  dazzling  with  the  lights  of  merriment. 

"I  owe  you  a  debt.  Perhaps  I  can  cancel  it.  You 
saved  me  from  —  from  Sonnes.  If  I  save  you  from 
the  wrath  of  Sonnes'  friends,  the  debt  will  be  can- 
celled, perhaps?" 

"That  debt?    You  ask  no  more?" 

"More?  What  more  is  there  that  I  could  ask?" 
The  wonderment  in  the  girl's  manner  was  confusing 
to  Rangy 's  self-esteem.  There  was  this  manner  in 
which  he  was  dogging  her  steps,  there  was  his 
promise  to  teach  to  her  the  code  of  mankind;  and 
yet  she  had  not  asked  that  he  forego  them. 

"What  more  could  I  ask?"  the  girl  pressed,  j 

"I  kinda  thought  mabbe  you  might  want  me  to 
lay  off  taking  you  back  to  Triple  Butte." 

"Oh,"  the  girl  exclaimed  softly,  "but  I  could  not 
ask  that.  It  has  been  too  amusing.  You  agree  to 
the  other?  There  is  but  little  time  to  lose." 

Rangy  Pete  nodded,  for  the  abrupt  shock  of  his 
vanity  did  not  encourage  speech. 

A  moment  later  they  were  galloping  side  by  side 
along  the  draw,  and  this  time  Rangy  Pete,  though 
still  conscious  of  the  girl's  charms,  fought  off  the 
sentiment  of  her  presence.  For  he,  the  self-reliant 
Rangy  Pete,  had  become  dependent  upon  a  mere 
girl,  perhaps  even  for  his  whole  future.  He  tried  to 
turn  his  eyes  away,  but  found  that  they  strayed 


356  RANGY    PETE 

constantly  towards  her;  he  tried  to  focus  his  mind 
upon  the  peril  of  the  future,  but  that  only  drew  him 
back  to  wonder  about  this  plan  which  lay  in  the 
girl's  brain;  he  tried  to  drive  her  from  his  thoughts, 
and  in  attempting  that,  he  but  found  himself  caught 
more  hopelessly  in  a  wild  tangle  of  thought  of  which 
Miss  Dick  was  the  background.  He  noticed  now 
how  confident  she  had  become,  how  masterful,  and 
yet,  back  of  that,  there  was  still  that  gleam  of  amuse- 
ment in  her  eyes  whenever  she  looked  towards  him. 
There  was  amusement,  an  impersonal  thing,  as 
though  life  were  at  last  holding  out  some  of  the  fruits 
of  reward. 

How  long  he  rode  thus,  studying  the  girl  at  his 
side,  wondering  at  the  quick,  flashing  moods  which 
controlled  her,  Rangy  Pete  could  not  say.  He  knew 
only  that  she  swept  him  back  to  the  present  with  a 
quick  gesture. 

"I  told  you  there  wasn't  much  time  to  spare," 
she  exclaimed,  with  a  little  touch  of  excitement  in 
her  voice,  as  she  pointed  to  a  ridge  in  the  butte  land 
trail  before  them. 

There,  through  a  gap  in  the  buttes,  was  a  clear 
vision  of  the  trail  beyond.  It  stood  out  clear-cut 
before  him,  perhaps  a  mile  distant,  perhaps  a  half 
mile.  But  more  important  than  the  distance  was 
the  fact  that  a  string  of  riders  were  racing  down 
towards  them. 

Miss  Dick  rode  on,  with  Rangy  at  her  side,  and 


RANGY   PETE  357 

in  a  minute  more  the  vision  of  the  distant  trail  was 
lost  to  view. 

"The  boy  puncher  didn't  lose  much  time,"  the 
girl  exclaimed.  "He  must  have  found  the  Merrill 
gang  riding  this  way.  Can  you  get  a  little  more 
speed  out  of  that  cayuse,  Mr.  Pete?" 

Rangy  Pete  did.  He  used  the  spur  on  the  burnt- 
yellow  cayuse,  keeping  at  Miss  Dick's  side  only  with 
an  effort,  and  wondering  all  the  time  at  the  meaning 
of  this  strange  ride  into  the  arms  of  the  enemy.  He 
had  seen  the  enemy  through  the  gap  in  the  buttes, 
and  this  pace  must  bring  them  together;  and  what 
then?  It  was  a  strange  rescue  which  Miss  Dick 
was  conducting,  and  yet,  except  for  a  slight  heighten- 
ing of  the  color  in  her  cheeks,  there  was  nothing 
about  the  girl's  manner  to  indicate  that  she  had 
anything  at  stake. 

For  an  instant  there  flashed  into  his  mind  a  sus- 
picion of  trickery.  Perhaps  these  would  not  be  the 
Merrill  riders  after  all.  Perhaps  they  were  Der- 
vishers;  and  if  they  were?  With  an  effort  he  forced 
that  suspicion  aside.  He  studied  the  girl's  manner 
once  more,  and  he  could  be  certain  now  that  the 
dappling  of  red  which  painted  the  bronze  of  her 
cheeks  was  born  of  elation. 

Once  she  glanced  across  her  shoulder  into  his 
eyes,  and  the  message  which  lay  there  was  one  of 
comradeship.  For  the  meantime,  all  other  moods 
had  been  swept  away.  This  was  a  race  which  they 


358  RANGY    PETE 

two  were  running  out  together;  it  was  a  thrill  of 
body  which  responded  to  the  spirit  of  youth,  and 
in  the  outward  token  of  that  thrill  which  lay  in  the 
girl's  eyes  there  was  a  surety  that  behind  it  all  was 
no  trickery.  There  was  comradeship  for  this  moment, 
the  closeness  of  comradeship  which  shares  dangers 
alike.  There  was  the  spirit  of  youth  which  had 
risen  up  again  to  hold  her  in  its  grasp,  which  had 
painted  into  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  the  sparkle  of 
life,  which  had  —  • 

"I  knew  we'd  make  it,"  Miss  Dick  exclaimed 
abruptly. 

"Make  what?"  Rangy  asked,  as  he  loosened  the 
Winchester  at  his  side.  For  he  could  see  that  unless 
something  happened  speedily,  all  they  would  make 
would  be  a  clash  with  the  enemy. 

"The  Pelican  cave,  of  course,"  Miss  Dick  replied. 
"See  it,  off  there?" 

The  direction  indicated  was  to  the  left,  and  it 
seemed  to  Rangy  Pete  that  the  girl  was  pointing 
up  a  draw  which  branched  off  this  main  trail,  but 
which,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  offered  no  outlet. 

Still,  Miss  Dick  turned  her  cayuse  directly  towards 
it,  and  as  she  did  so,  from  the  distance  to  the  right 
there  came  the  distant  clatter  of  horses'  shod  feet 
striking  the  bare  rock.  Miss  Dick  looked  anxiously 
over  her  shoulder,  but  the  Merrill  punchers  were 
not  yet  to  be  seen. 

In  front  of  him,  as  Rangy  Pete  rode,  was  this 


RANGY    PETE  359 

offshoot  draw  from  the  main  trail.  Even  at  close 
range,  it  looked  like  a  ragged,  tapering  cone  cut  out 
of  the  face  of  the  buttes,  but  where  it  should  have 
wound  its  way  on  and  on  through  the  tangled  ways 
of  butte  land,  it  ended  instead  in  a  sharp  wall  of 
rock.  It  began  like  an  ordinary  butte  land  valley 
winding  its  way  through  the  jumble  of  buttes,  and 
it  ended  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  on  in  a  dun, 
placid  face  of  rock.  From  the  distance,  that  wall 
of  rock  looked  like  a  sheer  one,  impossible  for  man 
to  climb  in  this  haste  which  was  now  upon  them; 
yet  towards  the  left,  perhaps  half  way  from  the  ground 
to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  there  was  a  black  spot  which 
seemed  but  a  smear  upon  the  gray  face  of  the  rock. 

It  was  towards  that  black  spot  that  the  girl  was 
riding,  sitting  sideways  in  her  saddle  and  searching 
with  her  eyes  the  trail  to  the  right,  from  which 
direction  came  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs.  And  now 
she  had  begun  to  talk,  quickly,  in  jerky  little  imper- 
ative sentences,  sentences  which  robbed  Rangy  Pete 
of  all  thought  of  command. 

"Must  make  it  fast.  Half  mile  behind  at  the  most. 
Passing  echo  rock.  A  stiff  climb,  but  we'll  make  it, 
if  you  do  what  I  say.  When  I  dismount,  you  work 
fast.  Throw  off  saddle  and  bridle.  Turn  cayuse 
loose.  Take  all  food  from  your  saddle  bags  and  put 
it  in  mine.  Get  your  rope  ready  now.  Here's  one 
from  my  saddle.  Tie  the  ends  together.  When  we 
get  there,  fasten  one  end  around  my  saddle  the 


360  RANGY   PETE 

other  to  your  belt.  I'll  climb  first  because  I  know 
the  way.  Drag  the  saddle  up  after  us  by  the  rope." 

Miss  Dick  stopped  as  abruptly  as  she  began,  and 
Rangy  found  himself  wondering  at  the  quick  com- 
mand of  her.  It  was  almost  as  though  she  had 
enacted  this  scene  many  times  before.  There  was 
about  her,  as  well,  a  confidence  which  told  Rangy 
that  it  had  not  even  occurred  to  her  that  his  views 
might  not  fit  in  with  her  plans.  He  looked  at  the 
face  of  the  cliff,  grown  closer  now  and  rising  stark 
above  them,  and  he  wondered  why  that  heavy 
saddle  must  be  dragged  up  to  that  black  hole  which 
surely  must  be  the  mouth  of  the  Pelican  cave. 
Still,  in  spite  of  that,  he  found  that  he  was  tieing 
the  ends  of  the  ropes  together,  just  as  Miss  Dick 
had  told  him  to. 

Abruptly  Miss  Dick  leaped  from  her  cayuse,  and 
began  to  work  at  the  saddle  and  bridle  with  swift, 
sure  hands.  While  working  at  his  own,  Rangy  found 
that  there  was  a  calm  haste  about  the  girl,  a  swift 
deliberation  which  a  tangled  end  of  his  emotions 
wanted  to  admire  even  while  the  bulk  of  his  thought 
was  with  the  peril  of  the  situation  which  faced  them. 

Rangy  Pete  worked  with  mechanical  swiftness, 
and  shortly  he  found  himself  stooping  over  for  Miss 
Dick's  saddle. 

A  remarkably  heavy  thing,  after  all,  for  all  its 
appearance  of  lightness  —  those  saddle  bags  must 
be  tightly  packed. 


RANGY    PETE  361 

Now  he  was  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  and  the  girl 
was  already  climbing. 

"Bring  the  saddle  up  a  few  feet.  There  is  a  ledge 
here  to  rest  it  on." 

The  distance  to  that  black  spot  on  the  gray  face 
of  the  cliff  was  not  so  great  after  all.  Rangy  could 
see  now  that  it  would  be  fifty  feet,  a  trifle  more  at 
the  most.  Except  for  one  or  two  narrow  ledges,  the 
climb  was  a  sheer  one.  But  it  was  an  ancient  way, 
known  to  the  footsteps  of  some  long-lost  generation, 
for  carefully  chiseled  out  of  the  face  of  the  rock  were 
steps  like  the  rungs  of  a  ladder.  It  would  be  the 
cave  of  some  tribe  of  man  long  passed  from  the  face 
of  the  earth,  a  den  towards  which  he  and  Miss  Dick 
were  climbing  —  a  trap,  as  well. 

Rangy  stopped  in  his  climbing. 

"When  they  get  us  here,  how  long  will  it  take 
them  to  starve  us  out?"  he  demanded  suddenly. 
"Is  there  any  food  or  water  up  there?" 

"There  is  not." 

"Then  there's  nothing  to  be  gained  by  starvin' 
in  a  cave,  Miss.  I'd  better  be  stayin'  down  below. 
I'll  fight  'em  off  till  after  dark,  and  then  mabbe 
you  can  slip  down  and  mooch  it  outa  the  way." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Pete.  Please  hurry.  They  are  almost 
here.  I  can  hear  the  horses  again." 

"No,  Miss.  They  ain't  no  use  for  me  to  get  up 
into  that  cave.  I've  hadda  think  fast,  and  the  way 
I  see  it,  we  can't  take  no  chances  of  lettin'  them 


362  RANGY    PETE 

camp  around  the  bottom  of  this  cliff.  They'd  shore 
have  us  corralled  tighter'n  a  drum.  But  if  I  stay  at 
the  bottom,  behind  one  of  them  rocks,  and  kinda 
discourage  them  from  nosin'  up  here  too  close, 
while  you  salutes  them  from  above,  we  got  a  chance. 
We  might  slip  out  after  dark- 

Behind  him  came  the  sudden  clatter  of  galloping 
horses,  as  the  foremost  riders  rounded  the  point  of 
rock  from  the  main  trail  several  hundred  yards  away. 

"I'd  better  slope  it  back  quick,"  Rangy  declared, 
as  he  made  a  downward  step. 

"No!  No!"  Miss  Dick  exclaimed,  with  a  trace  of 
excitement  in  her  manner.  "This  is  not  a  cave. 
I  hadn't  intended  to  tell  you,  but  it  is  the  way 
through  the  buttes.  Come.  Hurry.  They  will  be 
shooting  soon." 

Rangy  liked  that  excitement  in  the  girl's  tones. 
There  was  a  personal  note  in  it  which  brought  back 
the  old  thrill.  There  was,  as  well,  a  suggestion  of 
concern  which  he  was  too  human  to  overlook. 

"That's  different.  I'm  with  you,  long's  we  ain't 
a  hornin'  our  way  into  no  corral  what  we  can't  find 
our  way  out  of.  You  just  run  along  fast.  I'll  be 
right  after  you." 

That  new  thrill  was  still  running  warm  in  the 
veins  of  Rangy  Pete  as  they  climbed  the  face  of  the 
cliff.  In  his  brain  was  a  consciousness  that  Miss  Dick 
did  not  want  to  leave  him  to  the  mercies  of  the  riders 
from  the  Snaky  Y;  but  this  was  no  time  to  look  about 


RANGY    PETE  363 

for  her  motives.  In  his  ears  was  the  sound  of  gallop- 
ing horses.  Rangy  did  not  look  around,  for  he 
dreaded  the  moment  when  those  sounds  must  cease. 

Miss  Dick  climbed  briskly.  Now  she  was  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  cave.  A  few  more  steps  and  he 
would  be  at  her  side. 

Abruptly  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  died  away. 
Rangy  Pete  knew  the  meaning  of  that. 

"Hurry,"  he  exclaimed.  "They'll  be  shooting 
now  —  " 

Almost  as  he  spoke,  there  came  the  whine  of  a 
bullet  and  a  dull,  shattering  sound  as  it  bit  its  way 
into  the  face  of  the  cliff,  then  fell  back  lifeless. 

Miss  Dick  threw  herself  over  the  edge  of  the  cave. 
Just  two  steps  more  to  make  himself  and  he  would 
be  at  her  side.  Behind  him  there  was  the  sharp 
snapping  of  pistol  shots.  At  his  side  was  the  deadened 
thud  of  bullets. 

Now  he  was  at  the  edge  of  the  cave  —  the  girl's 
arm  was  thrust  out  to  pull  him  more  swiftly  into 
safety.  More  bullets,  whining  their  way  past  his 
head,  or  biting  ineptly  at  the  cold  face  of  the  rock. 
He  was  at  the  edge  now,  tumbling  into  safety  —  he 
had  beaten  them  — 

Beaten  them  —  what  was  that  hot,  searing  sen- 
sation which  cut  its  way  through  his  right  leg  and 
left  it  all  but  powerless?  What  was  that  dizzying 
reel  in  his  brain?  Miss  Dick  at  his  side,  tugging  now 
at  that  rope  which  he  had  fastened  about  his  waist. 


364  RANGY    PETE 

Strange,  but  he  had  forgotten  that.  There  was  a 
saddle  at  the  far  end  of  that  rope,  a  remarkably 
heavy  saddle  which  Miss  Dick,  through  some  foolish 
mood,  was  trying  to  rescue  from  the  Snaky  Y 
punchers. 

Rangy  put  his  hand  to  the  rope,  and  tugged  with 
Miss  Dick.  Still  firing  outside.  Doubtless  trying 
to  cut  the  rope  with  their  bullets.  Through  an 
endless  period  that  firing  continued,  while  he  labored 
beside  the  girl.  In  time,  many  hours  later,  it  seemed, 
the  sound  of  angry  bullets  died  away,  and  the  drab 
old  saddle  crawled  through  the  mouth  of  the  cave 
and  lay  there  before  him. 

"Foolish  old  thing,"  Rangy  muttered,  conscious 
that  he  was  caught  in  the  grip  of  some  unusual  cir- 
cumstance. 

Miss  Dick  swung  towards  him  quickly. 

"You're  hurt?"  she  exclaimed  instantly,  and  again 
Rangy  was  aware  of  that  personal  note. 

It  was  such  a  pleasing  thing,  that  personal  note 
in  the  girl's  voice.  It  was  pleasing,  as  well,  to  see 
that  sudden  flash  of  alarm  which  leaped  into  her 
eyes.  Alarm,  for  him.  Queer  old  world.  How  topsy- 
turvy things  had  become.  Miss  Dick,  the  bandit, 
feeling  alarm  for  him! 

"Just  a  scratch.  Ain't  notliin',"  Rangy  declared, 
though  quite  conscious  that  he  did  not  want  that 
alarm  to  die  out  of  the  girl's  features. 

"Nothin'  atoll,"  he  insisted,  and  to  prove  that 


RANGY    PETE  365 

fact  he  tried  to  rise  to  his  feet.  He  reached  that 
position,  in  a  tottering  way,  only  to  tumble  back 
to  the  floor  of  the  cave  when  he  put  his  foot  to  the 
ground. 

He  tumbled  to  the  floor  of  the  cave.  He  knew 
that  perfectly  well.  It  was  quite  natural  that  he 
should  do  so;  but  the  rest  of  it  was  all  strange.  It 
was  not  natural  that  the  floor  of  the  cave  should 
open  up  before  him  and  that  he  should  keep  on 
tumbling  and  tumbling,  on  and  on,  falling  through 
endless  space,  through  rocks  and  trees  and  clouds, 
through  alternate  light  and  darkness,  through  new 
and  old  scenes  —  yes,  it  was  most  natural  after  all. 
A  moment  ago  he  had  not  known  himself.  Now  it 
was  quite  all  right.  He  knew  himself.  He  remem- 
bered it  all  distinctly.  He  was  Dan  Merrill,  and  he 
had  just  been  killed  by  Bill  Sonnes  when  they  fought 
over  Shifty  Lizz  back  in  Tony  Burke's  saloon. 

Darkness! 


CHAPTER  XHI 

WHEN  the  darkness  gradually  gave  way  to  rifts 
of  light  here  and  there,  Rangy  Pete  was  conscious 
of  an  occasional  snapping,  whining  sound  which 
touched  some  vague  spot  in  his  memory.  There 
would  come  a  dreary,  whining  slur  which  he  knew 
quite  well,  followed  by  a  rattling,  shattering  suc- 
cession of  noises  quite  unfamiliar  to  his  senses.  From 
time  to  time,  near  at  hand,  there  was  a  sharp  stabbing 
of  the  air  which  reached  his  ear-drums  with  unnec- 
essary violence,  and  always,  it  seemed  to  him,  that 
was  followed  by  the  whining  and  shattering  of  other 
sounds. 

Once,  when  that  volume  of  unfamiliar  noise  grew 
intense,  Rangy  Pete  opened  his  eyes  wearily.  The 
scene  was  familiar  enough,  but  that  sound  did  not 
belong  to  him  at  all.  The  scene  was  the  edge  of  the 
earth.  It  was  that  black  cave  from  which  he  had 
tumbled  into  eternity  when  Bill  Sonnes  shot  him 
back  there  in  Burke's  saloon.  That  was  quite  right ; 
but  this  slithering  noise,  like  some  giant  hammer 
chopping  at  blocks  of  stone  —  it  was  annoying. 
It  ruffled  the  peacefulness  of  eternity.  It  —  queer, 
but  there  seemed  to  be  a  physical  side  to  him  now; 
there  was  now  a  dragging  something  cluttering  all 

3«6 


RANGY    PETE  367 

about  that  lightness  of  soul  which  through  unlimited 
years  had  been  wandering  through  infinite  spaces; 
there  was  a  restraining  something  hedged  all  about 
that  mentality  which  but  a  moment  ago  had  known 
neither  bounds  nor  limits;  there  was  - 

Rangy  Pete  opened  his  eyes  again.  There  was  a 
searing  in  his  right  leg,  just  above  the  knee.  Gad. 
There  was  a  girl  right  in  front  of  him.  She  had  a 
Winchester  in  her  hands,  and  she  was  firing  from 
time  to  time  out  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  And  that 
shattering  volume  of  noise  was  made  by  the  occa- 
sional bullet  which  whipped  upward  from  the  ground, 
bit  into  the  roof  of  the  cave  and  loosened  fragments 
of  rock  all  about  them.  There  was  the  echo  of  the 
Winchester  as  the  reverberations  of  sound  traveled 
the  length  of  the  cave  like  the  rumbling  of  distant 
thunder,  and  then  died  away.  There  was  the  acrid 
smell  of  burnt  powder  upon  the  air  —  there  was  a 
bandage  about  his  leg  which  had  stopped  the  flow 
of  blood. 

Rangy  Pete  rose  to  his  elbow,  and  as  he  did  so, 
Miss  Dick  swung  about  to  face  him.  There  was  a 
brilliance  in  her  eyes,  a  glow  upon  her  cheeks,  which 
he  had  never  seen  before.  There  was  a  keenness  of 
battle  in  her  pose,  which  in  some  unexplained  manner 
recalled  to  him  the  poise  of  a  mother  wolf  he  had 
once  seen  fighting  for  her  young. 

"Looks  as  though  they  pinked  me,"  Rangy  mut- 
tered. "What's  going  on  now?" 


368  RANGY    PETE 

"Nothing.  We're  just  exchanging  friendly  salutes. 
I  am  letting  the  Merrill  gang  know  it  wouldn't  be 
wise  to  try  to  climb  up  that  stairway.  How  are 
you  feeling,  Mr.  Pete?" 

"Like  a  branded  maverick,  I'm  thinkin'.  But  why 
haven't  you  sloped  it  long  ago?" 

"They  would  have  had  you  strung  up  by  this 
time,"  the  girl  replied  calmly.  "I  had  to  stay,  Mr. 
Pete,  because  I  knew  the  curiosity  of  that  bunch  of 
riders.  One  of  them  just  climbed  up  the  stairs. 
I  nicked  him  a  little.  That  is  what  the  firing  has 
been  about.  It  has  stopped  now." 

The  sound  of  firing  had  died  away,  and  through 
the  calm  which  settled  down  upon  them  Rangy  felt 
that  he  could  think  more  clearly. 

He  found  that  his  head  had  been  pillowed  upon 
Miss  Dick's  saddle,  so  he  let  it  fall  back  again,  and 
he  lay  there  contemplating  the  girl  and  the  scene 
about  huii.  This  cave  was  pleasantly,  restfully  robed 
in  the  soft  shades  of  twilight,  though  from  the  color 
of  the  air  beyond,  he  knew  it  must  still  be  daylight 
in  the  world  outside. 

The  sun,  he  could  remember,  had  been  slanting 
down  behind  the  butte  tops  when  he  and  Miss  Dick 
made  that  dash  for  the  Pelican  cave  way  back  in 
the  distant  ages  when  some  other  race  of  mankind 
lived  upon  the  earth.  And  still  there  was  daylight 
outside.  This  must  mean  that,  after  all,  he  had  not 
been  traveling  for  years  and  generations  through 


RANGY    PETE  369 

those  mystic  and  darkened  realms  which  held  him 
for  a  time,  but  that,  in  reality,  it  could  have  been 
but  a  few  minutes. 

Yet  in  those  few  minutes  Miss  Dick  had  been 
active.  She  had  bound  up  his  wound  which  felt  hot 
and  restless  now;  she  had  pillowed  his  head  upon 
her  saddle;  she  had  found  stones  in  some  strange 
manner  with  which  to  build  a  barricade  between 
them  and  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  she  had  fought 
off  the  punchers. 

Rangy  Pete  looked  about  him  —  at  the  barricade, 
at  the  clear,  day-lit  air  beyond. 

"So  you  nicked  one  of  the  punchers?"  he  asked 
meditatively. 

"Just  a  little.  Through  the  arm.  He  would  insist 
upon  coming  up  here  even  after  I  had  fired  a  couple 
of  shots  into  the  air.  That  squares  accounts  for 

you." 

There  were  facts  which  Rangy  must  get  firmly 
fixed  in  his  mind,  facts  which  somehow  had  become 
warped  and  distorted  through  that  age  he  had  spent 
in  another  world. 

"And  didn't  you  say  something  about  this  not 
being  a  cave,  but  that  it  runs  through  the  buttes  to 
the  land  of  the  Dervishers?" 

Miss  Dick  nodded. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it  now.  Miss  Dick 
had  saved  his  life  —  and  the  price  she  had  paid 
had  been  her  own  opportunity  to  escape. 


370  RANGY    PETE 

"You  know  your  way  through  the  cave?"  Rangy 
pressed,  caught  in  the  abrupt  knowledge  that  he 
must  be  quite  clear  upon  that  point. 

Miss  Dick  laughed  easily. 

"Know  the  way?  I  have  known  it  since  a  child. 
Day  or  night  I  know  it.  It  leads  off  here  into  the 
dark  —  and  from  the  dark,  Mr.  Rangy  Pete,  if  you 
take  the  right  steps  and  the  right  turns,  you  come 
out  into  the  light  on  the  top  of  the  buttes,  and  then, 
if  you  take  the  right  steps  again,  you  come  down 
into  the  land  of  the  Dervishers,  as  you  call  it  - 
though  we  call  it  home  - 

Was  it  wistfulness  or  humor  in  the  girl's  voice? 
There  was  still  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes,  he  knew,  but 
that  had  come  from  battle. 

"And  no  one  knows  where  this  queer  path  leads 
down  into  —  into  your  home?"  Rangy  asked.  "I 
mean  no  one  but  Dervishers." 

"No  one  but  Dervishers." 

"Then,  girl,  you  had  better  be  going  before  the 
punchers  come  again  - 

Miss  Dick  looked  at  him  strangely,  so  strangely 
that  Rangy  stumbled  over  his  words. 

"  They'll  be  coming  again  —  mustn't  let  them 
brand  you  with  a  bullet  —  I'll  hold  them  off  for  a 
while  —  I'm  thinkin'  I  could  keep  them  busy  a 
whole  night  — 

Rangy  Pete  broke  off,  for  there  was  something  in 
the  girl's  silence  which  told  him  that  his  words  were 


RANGY    PETE  371 

all  foolishness.  She  turned  her  eyes  away  swiftly, 
and  she  began  to  busy  herself  with  the  weapons 
which  lay  at  her  side.  Rangy  lay  still  and  watched 
her  for  some  minutes;  and  as  he  watched,  he  listened 
for  sounds  from  the  punchers  down  below.  Miss 
Dick's  activity,  he  discovered,  was  spurious,  for 
though  her  fingers  were  busy,  she  was  doing  nothing. 
From  beyond  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  there  came  an 
occasional  sound  which  betrayed  to  him  the  temper 
of  the  punchers.  There  was  silence,  broken  at  times 
by  the  angry  whip  of  a  bullet  as  it  cut  through  the 
mouth  of  the  cave  and  bit  into  the  rocky  roof  beyond 
them.  There  drifted  up  to  him  an  odor  of  campfire 
smoke,  quite  different  from  this  acrid  smell  of 
powder;  and  that  spoke  of  camps  for  the  night. 

Through  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  the  crystal  of 
the  air  was  thinning.  Dark  shadows  were  showing 
on  the  buttes  beyond.  The  twilight  of  this  cave 
was  growing  denser.  Night  was  coming  upon  them, 
and  the  punchers  were  camping  in  the  draw  below. 
Determined  to  catch  them,  no  doubt,  believing  they 
were  trapped  in  this  hole  in  the  wall  of  the  cliff. 
Knowing,  or  thinking  they  knew,  that  it  would  be 
only  a  matter  of  time  until  starvation  forced  them 
to  yield. 

If  only  there  were  not  that  searing  burn  in  his 
leg,  he  would  laugh  at  them  now.  But  there  was 
that  crumpled  leg,  and  there  was  also  Miss  Dick 
before  him,  toying  with  a  six-gun,  cleaning  it  again 


37S  RANGY   PETE 

and  again.  He,  at  least,  was  trapped.  But  why 
must  this  girl  suffer  with  him?  Yet  he  dreaded  that 
strange  look  which  came  into  her  eyes  when  he 
spoke  to  her  of  escape. 

Rangy's  left  hand  strayed  up  to  toy  with  the  tip 
of  his  left  ear.  He  cleared  his  throat,  and  he  began 
resolutely. 

"Now,  Miss  Dick,  I'm  gonna  throw  the  rope 
straight  this  time,  an'  tell  you  they  just  ain't  no 
use  of  the  both  of  us  being  caught  by  them  wild-men 
punchers  down  below  - 

The  girl  bandit  turned  her  face  towards  him  again, 
and  though  the  deepening  of  twilight  threw  her 
features  into  shadow,  he  could  still  see  the  sparkle 
of  her  eyes. 

"  Shore,  Mr.  Pete,"  she  returned,  mimicking  his 
voice,  "but  you  don't  go  far  enough.  I  don't  see 
any  use  of  either  of  us  being  caught." 

"You  don't?  With  a  dozen  punchers  down  below, 
and  a  whole  army  of  most  nigh  fifty  on  the  way." 

Miss  Dick  shook  her  head  firmly. 

"What  difference  does  it  make  how  many  there 
are?  Only  one  man  can  climb  those  steps  at  a  time." 

Rangy  was  almost  startled  at  the  calm  deliberation 
of  her  voice  and  manner.  There  was  about  her  now 
some  of  the  cool  fighting  instinct  which  he  knew  to 
be  a  characteristic  of  the  born  gunman.  But  with 
Miss  Dick  it  was  different.  She  was  cornered,  while 
they  had  fought  for  the  pure  love  of  it. 


RANGY    PETE  373 

"That's  what  I'm  sayin',"  Rangy  returned  slowly. 
"I  could  fight  them  off  all  night  an'  tomorrer,  an' 
while  I'm  doin'  that,  you  could  be  lookin'  up  a  more 
healthy  climate.  I'd  shore  like  to  go  with  you,  but 
seein'  as  one  of  them  punchers  had  to  go  and  brand 
me  on  the  leg  —  " 

"The  bone  isn't  broken.  You'll  be  able  to  crawl 
along  in  less  than  a  week,"  Miss  Dick  interrupted 
swiftly,  almost  with  violence  in  her  manner. 

Rangy  Pete  leaned  forward  to  study  this  queer 
half-shrinking,  half-arrogant  mood  which  held  the 
girl  in  its  grip.  But  Miss  Dick  turned  her  face  away 
and  the  growing  shadows  of  twilight  told  him 
nothing. 

"That  sounds  good,"  Rangy  reflected,  "but  you 
shore  don't  think  I  could  stand  them  off  for  a  week?" 

"No.    But  the  two  of  us  could." 

Rangy  laughed  uneasily. 

"I  couldn't  possibly  let  you  take  a  chance  like 
that.  We'd  be  starved  out,  or  you  might  get  hit 
yoreself  —  " 

This  time  Miss  Dick  leaned  over  him  quickly,  and 
even  through  the  shadows  he  could  see  the  flash 
of  her  eyes. 

"If  I  were  you  —  if  I  were  lying  as  you  are 
now,  would  you  desert  me,  Rangy  Pete?"  the  girl 
demanded,  and  now  he  knew  there  was  real  anger 
in  her  manner,  anger  because  of  his  inference  that 
she  should  not  play  the  game  to  the  end.  "Tell  me 


374  RANGY    PETE 

that,  and  I  will  know  whether  to  go  or  to  stay." 

"Shore,  I'd  leave  you,"  Rangy  replied  calmly. 
"Every  maverick  for  himself  when  they's  a  stampede 
on- 

"You  lie,  Rangy  Pete.  I  am  going  to  stay.  We 
will  fight  them  off  until  you  are  well  enough  to  get 
away  through  the  cave." 

Rangy  Pete  nodded,  with  the  old  thrill  coursing 
its  way  through  his  veins.  He  had  known  long  ago 
that  Miss  Dick  was  one  of  the  prizes  of  earth.  He 
knew  now  that  she  would  be  a  comrade  whom  man 
could  never  forget.  He  thrilled  in  her  presence.  If 
only  he  could  know  the  motive  which  urged  her  on. 

"You  shore  got  the  markin's  of  a  thoroughbred," 
he  reflected  in  admiration.  "They  ain't  no  reason 
why  you  shouldn't  stay  a  while,  and  if  it  gets  too 
hot  at  any  time  you  can  always  make  yore  escape  - 

"Can't  you  see  there  isn't  going  to  be  much 
fighting?"  Miss  Dick  replied  more  calmly.  "They 
think  we  are  trapped.  They  are  not  going  to  risk 
men  up  those  steps.  No,  they  will  sit  down  to  starve 
us  out.  They  can't  do  that  in  a  week.  There  is  a 
lot  of  food  in  my  saddle-bags,  and  if  it  gets  too  bad 
I  can  slip  out  the  back  door  at  night.  No,  Mr. 
Rangy  Pete,  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  sit  down  quietly 
for  a  few  days  until  your  leg  gets  so  you  can  crawl 
with  it." 

"P'raps  yer  right,"  Rangy  conceded. 

"Perhaps?   Of  course  I'm  right,"  the  girl  declared 


RANGY   PETE  375 

briskly,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  disappeared  in 
the  darkened  recesses  of  the  cave. 

Rangy  Pete  felt  a  feverish  restlessness  stealing 
over  him.  There  was  the  pain  of  his  wound  which 
throbbed  its  way  through  his  veins,  but  greater  than 
that,  there  was  the  uncertainty  of  the  future  which 
Miss  Dick  had  chosen  for  herself.  He  wondered  if 
the  girl  really  knew  what  the  immediate  future  must 
mean  to  her.  Did  she  know  that  the  whole  burden 
of  battle  would  fall  upon  her?  Or  did  that  strange 
light  in  her  eyes  mean  that  she  welcomed  battle? 

There  was  that  fever  creeping  into  his  blood. 
Doubtless  in  a  few  hours  he  would  be  delirious.  Then 
there  would  be  hours,  days  perhaps,  through  which 
he  would  be  helpless.  And  through  those  days  and 
hours,  what  would  Miss  Dick  be  doing?  Fighting 
against  thirst,  starvation,  and  an  army  of  reckless 
punchers.  Fighting  for  him.  Could  she  possibly 
know  the  horror  of  those  days  which  were  before 
her  now?  Could  she  know  the  torment  of  days  and 
nights  when  the  body  must  keep  on  toiling,  and  when 
the  eyes  dare  not  close  in  sleep? 

Rangy's  eyes  stole  into  the  darkness  of  the  cave, 
and  there  he  saw  the  dim  outline  of  the  girl's  figure 
moving  about.  Presently  she  came  back  with  a 
fragment  of  rock  in  her  arms,  and  she  placed  this 
on  top  of  the  barricade  which  she  had  built  during 
his  first  trip  into  realms  beyond  the  earth.  For  a 
time,  with  that  fever  creeping  higher  and  higher  in 


376  RANGY    PETE 

his  blood,  he  watched  the  girl  passing  back  and  forth, 
toiling  with  the  rock  which  made  the  barricade  more 
and  more  effective.  Shortly  he  discovered  that  she 
was  doing  this  to  shelter  his  position  from  stray 
bullets;  but  that  knowledge  only  added  to  the  flush 
of  the  fever  which  was  burning  its  way  through  his 
body.  Instead  of  asking  him  to  move,  she  was 
building  a  barricade  of  rock  between  him  and  all 
possible  harm.  She  left  an  opening  in  the  wall,  she 
spread  a  blanket  beside  that  opening  and  placed  a 
loaded  Winchester  and  six-gun  upon  the  blanket. 
Then  she  carefully  stored  the  food  somewhere  in 
the  darkness  beyond.  After  that,  Miss  Dick  came 
and  sat  down  upon  the  blanket,  some  six  feet  from 
where  Rangy  Pete  lay. 

It  was  dark  in  the  cave  now.  It  was  dark,  as  well, 
in  the  air  beyond.  Either  that,  or  his  brain  was 
already  playing  strange  tricks  upon  him. 

"Good  Lord,  Miss,"  Rangy  spoke  suddenly  from 
the  depths  of  his  heart,  "you  can't  know  what  the 
next  few  days  will  mean  —  better  go  now.  You'll 
have  a  terrible  time  if  you  stay  - 

The  girl  leaned  forward  and  passed  her  hand 
lightly  over  his  forehead. 

"Fever  already,"  she  muttered.  "Take  a  drink, 
Mr.  Rangy,  and  go  to  sleep  if  you  can.  You  will 
feel  better  in  the  morning." 

With  a  strange  desire  to  be  obedient,  he  drank 
what  the  girl  put  to  his  lips.  A  moment  later  he  was 


RANGY    PETE  377 

caught  in  a  mixed  wave  of  humiliation  and  gratitude. 
She  had  given  him  water  from  her  own  canteen,  and 
he  had  taken  it  before  he  thought.  Rangy  leaned 
back  against  the  saddle,  cushioned  with  a  blanket, 
and  he  tried  to  study  the  face  of  the  girl  at  his  side. 
That  was  impossible,  because  of  the  film  of  darkness 
but  there  was  no  reason  why  his  brain,  feverish  as 
it  was,  could  not  picture  Miss  Dick's  face  after  she 
had  passed  through  days  of  thirst  and  starvation. 
And  she  would  do  that  for  him.  She  must  know 
something  of  the  horror  of  the  immediate  future, 
and  yet  she  was  sitting  there  calmly,  staring  out 
into  the  night.  She  would  be  watching  the  mouth 
of  the  cave,  watching  that  spot  where  a  man's  head 
must  show  up  against  the  blot  of  night  —  if  any 
man  had  the  courage. 

Rangy  could  not  see  the  lip  of  the  cave.  He  was 
almost  glad  of  that.  But  he  could  see  the  sky  beyond. 
He  knew  it  must  be  sky,  because  it  was  a  dark  gray 
patch  thrown  out  against  the  surrounding  world  of 
darkness. 

For  hours  and  hours,  it  seemed  to  Rangy  Pete, 
he  watched  that  gray  patch  of  sky,  and  as  he  watched, 
it  gradually  grew  lighter,  with  a  silvery  sheen.  That 
would  be  his  imagination,  or  the  fever  —  no  —  it 
was  the  coming  of  moonlight  —  moonlight?  Was 
it  last  night,  or  had  it  been  a  myriad  years  ago  that 
he  rode  along  a  strip  of  moonlight  with  a  girl  at  his 
side? 


378  RANGY    PETE 

Moonlight!  For  hours  and  hours  it  danced  and 
glittered  out  there  in  the  radiant  air  beyond  the  lip 
of  the  cave.  Or  was  it  minutes  only?  The  girl  baix-ly 
moved,  except  to  glance  from  time  to  time  in  his 
direction.  He  could  tell  that  by  the  fling  of  her  head. 
Silence  in  the  world  beyond,  except  for  a  snatch  of 
campfire  song  which  floated  up  through  the  moonlit 
air.  Laughter;  at  times  the  sound  of  bickering  voices. 
Rangy  Pete  knew  that  scene  so  well,  just  as  well  as 
though  he  had  been  seated  at  the  side  of  the  fire 
flipping  the  cards  or  sharing  in  the  banter.  He  knew 
there  was  no  hope  that  the  camp  would  melt  away 
and  that  he  and  Miss  Dick  would  be  left  to  their 
own  resources. 

Miss  Dick,  watching  steadily  that  one  point  at 
the  lip  of  the  cave  where  a  man's  head  must  appear, 
sooner  or  later !  It  was  inevitable  that  in  any  gang 
of  a  dozen  punchers  there  must  be  at  least  one  who 
would  have  the  folly  to  climb  that  flight  of  stairs 
notched  into  the  face  of  the  rock;  there  would  be  at 
least  one  man  who  through  the  night  would  dare 
to  peer  over  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  And  the  girl 
sitting  there  so  calmly,  with  weapons  at  her  hands, 
waiting  for  the  inevitable.  She  must  know  what  he, 
Rangy  Pete,  knew  —  that  there  was  more  to  be 
feared  from  folly  than  from  actual  attack.  For  what 
half-score  of  punchers  can  sit  about  a  camp-fire  at 
night,  with  their  quarry  in  sight,  without  being 
touched  in  some  manner  by  the  spirit  of  folly? 


RANGY    PETE  379 

Miss  Dick  must  know  that,  for  she  was  waiting, 
sheltered  behind  the  barricade,  but  in  such  position 
that  her  presence  must  be  stern  discipline  for  folly. 
Even  through  the  fever  which  was  burning  into  his 
system,  Rangy  felt  like  shuddering.  Would  the  girl 
play  the  cold  game  of  discipline,  or  would  she  barter 
with  the  enemy?  Would  she  calmly  shoot  the  first 
head  which  showed  above  the  lip  of  the  cave,  or  — 

Moonlight?  Of  course  that  was  moonlight,  and 
it  was  through  moonlight  he  had  ridden  some  cen- 
turies ago,  with  this  girl  at  his  side.  Moonlight  in 
the  air  beyond.  Stealing  now  into  the  cave  itself. 
Glinting  and  shimmering  back  from  the  girl's  head 
whenever  she  glanced  about  —  glistening  just  as  it 
had  done  last  night  when  he  rode  that  silent  trail 
from  the  Crags  —  yes,  it  was  last  night  that  he  had 
ridden  with  Miss  Dick.  It  was  last  night  he  had 
ridden  in  arrogance,  confident  of  the  future,  certain 
of  his  sway  over  her,  certain  that  he  was  to  take 
her  back  to  Triple  Butte  to  teach  her  —  what  was 
that  he  had  thought  to  teach  Miss  Dick?  Something 
about  mankind.  And  here  was  she  now,  sitting  there 
so  calmly,  with  a  six-gun  in  her  hand,  waiting  to 
shoot  the  first  head  which  peered  above  that  dan- 
gerous lip  of  the  rock.  Queer,  how  topsy-turvy  the 
world  had  become.  And  this  fever  in  his  blood,  this 
pain  in  his  right  leg  - 

The  girl's  cool  hand  now  upon  his  forehead.  A 
caressing,  mothering  touch  there,  something  soothing. 


380  RANGY    PETE 

Or  was  that,  too,  but  the  antics  of  his  imagination? 
But  while  the  hand  was  there,  he  lost  his  desire  to 
toss  about,  his  brain  became  clearer,  and  he  could 
see  now  beyond  doubt  that  it  was  moonlight  which 
was  glinting  back  from  Miss  Dick's  hair.  It  was 
moonlight,  too,  which  showed  him  the  soft  lines 
about  the  girl's  features,  lines  softer  and  more  pitying 
than  any  he  had  seen  there  before.  And  was  there, 
as  well,  something  longing  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she 
leaned  above  him,  her  hand  still  upon  his  forehead? 
Was  there  a  soft,  lingering  caress  in  her  voice  as  she 
whispered  a  soothing,  child-like  song?  Why  should 
he  feel  suddenly  happy,  hi  spite  of  the  fever  and  the 
pain?  Perhaps  that,  as  well,  was  but  a  trick  of  the 
fever,  perhaps. 

Yet  that  could  hardly  be,  for  now  that  the  girl 
leaned  back  into  her  old  pose  of  watchfulness,  he 
could  see  clearly  the  lines  of  her  features  as  the  moon- 
light filtered  into  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  There  was 
something  stern,  yet  soft  and  mothering  in  the  girl's 
countenance,  the  croon  of  a  little  song  upon  her 
lips.  Strange,  that  she  should  be  sitting  there  so 
calmly,  waiting  to  shoot  a  man,  or  many  men  if 
need  be,  and  that  there  should  be  the  soothing  of 
faint  song  in  the  air.  An  unusual  kind  of  girl,  he 
must  admit,  which  he  should  have  recognized  and 
admitted  long  ago.  Quite  too  late  now.  And  she 
was  doing  this  for  him! 

Moonlight!  Peering,  inquisitive  moonlight,  sifting 


RANGY    PETE  381 

its  way  into  the  cave  until  he  could  see  the  girl's 
features  quite  distinctly.  Moonlight,  playing  with 
its  fantastic  fingers  over  the  scene  beyond  the  mouth 
of  the  cave.  It  must  be  doing  that,  for  the  patch  of 
sky  which  crossed  his  vision  was  clean,  and  the 
laughter  reached  him  clearly  through  the  rarified 
atmosphere.  He  knew  just  what  a  wonderful  night 
it  must  be  out  there  in  the  butte  land  moonlight  - 
wonderful,  but  not  quite  like  the  domestic  peace  of 
this  other  scene  of  which  he  was  a  part.  Peace. 
That  burning  of  fever  had  become  almost  a  restful 
thing. 

Moonlight  beyond  —  shattered  suddenly  by  the 
bark  of  a  six-gun. 

Rangy  waited  for  the  sound  of  that  annoying 
clatter  of  rock  which  must  come  when  a  bullet  bit 
into  the  roof  of  the  cave  —  the  sound  did  not  come. 
Poor  shooting.  That  idiot  down  below  had  not  even 
been  able  to  hit  the  black  spot  which  was  the  mouth 
of  the  cave  —  more  shots.  A  quick,  barking  fusilade 
of  them.  Somehow  they  seemed  to  come  from  a 
distance.  The  dying  of  laughter,  the  quick  oaths 
of  men.  Another  fusilade  of  shots  —  the  whooping 
of  healthy  male  voices.  Silence  down  below,  broken 
only  by  an  anxious  oath  —  a  confusing  situation. 
What  could  it  mean? 

Foolish  of  him!  Of  course  that  would  be  the 
arrival  of  the  army  of  punchers  who  had  followed 
him  all  through  the  day  and  the  night. 


382  RANGY    PETE 

Still  more  shots,  and  angered  voices.  Miss  Dick 
peering  cautiously  from  the  edge  of  the  cave. 

"Come  back,  girl,"  Rangy  called  in  a  whisper. 
"They  might  shoot  you." 

Mass  Dick  came  back  to  his  side.  She  put  her  hand 
once  more  upon  his  forehead,  and  looked  down  upon 
him.  Surely  her  eyes  were  shining  with  excitement. 

"They  are  fighting  out  there,  Rangy  Pete,"  she 
spoke  quietly.  "What  can  that  mean?" 

"Fighting?  Out  there?"  he  asked  in  a  puzzled 
way. 

"Yes,  the  men  who  have  just  ridden  in  —  the 
army  which  was  behind  us  —  they  are  fighting  I  hose 
Merrill  punchers.  What  can  it  mean?" 

Rangy's  answer  was  an  inarticulate  mumble  of 
words.  It  was  better  to  lie  here  thus,  with  the  girl's 
cool  hand  upon  his  forehead,  than  to  try  to  solve 
the  foolish  problems  of  cow  punchers.  If  they  chose 
to  fight,  what  did  it  matter  to  him?  He  preferred 
the  peace  of  this  silent  cave.  A  ragged  wrangle  of 
shots  down  below  —  a  quick  burst  of  sound,  the 
dominance  of  a  man's  voice  —  then  silence. 

Silence,  except  for  the  untraceable  blur  of  sound 
which  told  of  the  presence  of  many  men,  but  which 
in  some  ways  seemed  but  a  part  of  the  silence  of  the 
night.  What  matter,  ten  men  or  a  thousand?  Only 
one  man  could  climb  that  stairway  at  a  time;  only 
one  man  at  a  time  could  fall  back  to  his  death. 
Miss  Dick,  the  efficient,  he  wondered  now  if  she 


RANGY    PETE  383 

would  weary  of  the  killing  of  men  through  the  days 
before  he  dared  to  travel  out  through  the  back  of 
the  cave  into  the  land  of  the  Dervishers.  He  should 
not  let  her  do  that  thing.  It  was  wrong,  but  with 
this  fever  and  this  weakness  upon  him,  what  was 
there  for  him  to  do?  Order  Miss  Dick  to  leave  him  - 
what  good  were  orders  to  one  who  refused  to  obey? 
The  code,  the  teaching  of  his  code  of  mankind  — 
Miss  Dick's  hand  upon  his  brow,  stroking  the  fever 
away  with  gentle  fingers  —  voices,  annoying  voices 
down  below.  Insistent  voices,  bellowing  constantly. 

The  girl  leaned  closer. 

"They  are  calling  you  by  name,  Rangy  Pete," 
she  whispered.  "Do  you  not  hear  them?" 

"Shore  I  hear  them.   Idyots!  Tell'em  to  be  still." 

"There's  a  man  there  who  calls  you  his  friend," 
the  girl's  voice  continued  to  whisper.  "He  says 
everything  is  all  right  now.  He  calls  himself  Ike 
Collander.  You  know  Ike  Collander,  Rangy?" 

"Shore  —  Li'l  Ike  of  the  'vaporated  apples. 
Gosh  A'mighty!" 

Rangy  rallied  as  though  from  fitful  slumber.  He 
partly  pulled  himself  to  one  elbow,  and  he  studied 
the  scene  about  him  with  curious  eyes.  He  listened 
for  a  moment  to  those  voices  down  below. 

"I  musta  been  a  wanderin'  in  my  head,  Miss. 
I  thought  I  heard  somebody  say  somethin'  about 
Ike  Collander  -  " 

"You  did." 


384  RANGY    PETE 

From  below  came  the  long,  drawn-out  hail  of  an 
anxious  voice. 

"What's  the  matter,  Rangy?  Whyn't  you  been 
answerin'?" 

"Ike!"  Rangy  exclaimed.  "Ike  Collander  shore 
enough!" 

Then  Rangy  Pete  raised  his  voice  in  welcome  to 
Ike  Collander.  Immediately  there  came  back  a 
babel  of  sound.  There  was  the  clamor  of  mixed 
voices,  and  when  the  confusion  died  away,  there 
came  again  the  voice  of  Ike  Collander. 

"I'm  comin'  up  there,  Rangy,  so  jest  you  go  to 
holdin'  yore  bosses  easy.  Don't  get  no  fightin'  idea 
into  yore  head." 

The  only  sound  which  reached  him  now  was  the 
scraping  of  the  man's  shod  feet  as  they  groped  and 
found  those  steps  cut  out  of  the  face  of  the  rock. 

"Pull  me  forward,  just  a  little,"  Rangy  Pete 
whispered  to  the  girl  at  his  side,  "just  enough  so's 
I  can  see  Ike  the  minute  he  sticks  his  head  up." 

The  girl  obeyed  without  answering.  Then  instantly 
she  sank  back  into  the  darkened  portion  of  the  cave 
beliind  the  barricade.  While  those  scraping  sounds 
came  from  beyond  the  cave,  Rangy  reached  out  and 
put  one  hand  upon  the  girl's  arm.  It  was  more 
ivstful  thus.  It  brought  for  the  time  being  a  clarity 
of  brain,  when  before  his  thoughts  had  been  wander- 
ing. If  by  any  chance  his  senses  had  been  tricking 
him,  the  touch  of  the  girl's  arm  would  help  him 


RANGY    PETE  385 

through.  How  restful  to  be  able  to  lean  thus  upon 
another. 

Moonlight  beyond  —  the  faintest  shimmer  of  it 
penetrating  here  and  lighting  up  the  gleam  of  the 
girl's  eyes.  Ike's  groping  fingers  upon  the  lip  of  the 
cave.  A  head  showing  up  against  the  clear  back- 
ground of  sky.  Six  feet  distant.  A  man  could  sit 
here  and  kill  and  kill  until  the  weariness  of  killing  — 
But  no,  he  must  hold  close  grip  upon  himself. 

"Hey  there,  you  ole  tarnation  idyot,  whyn't  you 
been  answerin'  me  afore?"  Collander's  voice  was 
just  on  a  level  with  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  "But 
that  shore  is  some  castle  you  got  there,  Rangy  — 

"Shore,  li'l  Ike.  Ain't  you  got  no  manners?  What 
you  doin'  a  hangin'  on  my  front  doorstep?  And 
who's  them  noisy  friends  you  got  down  below?" 

Ike  Collander  still  clung  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave. 

"They's  a  hull  bunch  of  fellers  what  you  know, 
Rangy.  They's  Jumbo  Irish,  and  Ring'em  Foster, 
and  —  but  I'm  comin'  in  to  look  around  — 

"Yer  a  gonna  stay  right  where  you  are,  Mr.  Ike, 
till  I  knows  what  you  come  for.  You  come  to  take 
me  back  to  Triple  Butte?" 

"You  pore  idyot.  They  shore  must  be  sumthin' 
wrong  with  you,  Rangy.  We  come  up  the  Pelican 
draw  a  chasm'  Dervishers,  an'  we  heard  they's  a 
bunch  of  Snaky  Y  punchers  got  you  trapped  here 
in  a  cave,  so  we  moseyed  right  along.  'Tain't  been  no 
fun  for  them,  Rangy,  'cause  they's  about  a  half 


386  RANGY    PETE 

dozen  of  them  all  nicked  up  and  whining  around. 
An'  now  that  you  know  yer  with  friends,  can't  I 
come  in,  Rangy?" 

"Shore,  Ike.  You  won't  find  me  good  for  much, 
but- 

The  faint  flutter  of  Miss  Dick's  arm  beneath  the 
pressure  of  his  hand  caused  the  words  to  break  upon 
Rangy 's  lips. 

Miss  Dick,  the  bandit,  was  now  entirely  within 
his  power.  She  was  where  he  might  teach  to  her 
that  code  of  mankind.  She  was  conscious  of  that; 
she  must  be.  But  beyond  that  first  flutter  of  her 
arm,  the  girl  gave  no  sign  that  she  appreciated  the 
full  meaning  of  this  swift  turn  of  events.  It  would 
be  so  easy  now,  to  hand  Miss  Dick  over  to  the  army 
from  Triple  Butte,  to  the  punchers  from  the  Triangle 
O  and  the  Double  K. 

Rangy  Pete's  fingers  traveled  down  the  girl's  arm 
until  they  met  her  hand. 

Ike  Collander  out  there,  just  a  few  feet  away, 
making  a  great  clattering  noise  as  he  scrambled 
over  the  lip  of  the  cave. 

Rangy  carried  the  girl's  fingers  to  his  lips. 

"Good-bye,  girl.  Go,  quick.  Ike'll  be  here  in  a 
minute." 

"Go?"  she  asked  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  go." 

Miss  Dick  rose  to  her  feet  and  vanished  into  the 
darkness  of  the  inner  cave. 


RANGY    PETE  387 

"They  shore  got  me  all  bunged  up,  Ike,"  Rangy 
greeted  his  old  associate.  "Nicked  in  the  leg.  You 
come  just  in  time." 

Ike  Collander  became  solicitious.  He  examined 
Rangy  as  best  he  could,  then  he  pronounced  his 
judgment. 

"  We  shore  gotta  get  some  things  up  here,  Rangy. 
I'm  thinkin'  I'd  better  be  sayin'  something  to  them 
idyots  down  below." 

Collander  returned  to  the  lip  of  the  cave.  Imme- 
diately he  engaged  in  animated  conversation  with 
the  punchers  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff.  Rangy  Pete 
gathered  that  Collander  was  issuing  many  instruc- 
tions and  was  arguing  over  them  all.  In  some  way 
or  other  those  instructions  had  to  do  with  caring 
for  him  here  in  Pelican  cave,  but  Rangy  did  not 
listen  closely.  It  was  all  wearying  detail.  Besides, 
he  missed  the  coolness  of  that  hand  which  had 
rested  upon  his  forehead.  The  fever,  he  knew,  was 
coming  back  again  — 

Yes,  the  fever  was  coming  back,  or  why  would 
he  have  fancied  that  Miss  Dick  was  again  at  his 
side,  that  she  was  looking  down  upon  him  with 
widely  curious  eyes?  That  fever  must  be  very  bad 
indeed,  or  why  would  he  have  believed  that  he 
heard  her  voice? 

"Rangy,  you  sure  are  a  trump  card." 

It  was  just  a  whisper,  a  mere  thread  of  a  voice. 
Still,  he  was  quite  sure  that  it  existed.  He  opened 


388  RANGY    PETE 

his  eyes  more  widely.  Yes,  the  girl  was  actually 
before  him. 

"Then  you  are  not  going  to  take  me  back  to  Triple 
Butte  after  all,  to  teach  me  the  code  of  man?"  The 
lips  were  smiling,  and  the  girl's  eyes  were  dazzling. 

"No,  little  girl,"  Rangy  whispered  back,  through 
his  weariness.  "They  ain't  nothin'  I  would'n  do  to 
have  you  with  me  all  the  time,  so  that's  why  I  gotta 
let  you  go  - 

"Poor,  mixed-up  Rangy,"  the  girl  replied.  "We 
must  hurry,  because  Bee  will  soon  be  back.  But 
there  is  a  present  I  have  for  you,  Rangy.  Will  you 
take  it?" 

"What  is  it,  Blue  Eyes?" 

"Nothing  but  that  saddle  you're  lying  upon.  If 
you  look  in  the  saddle  bags  you  will  find  ten  thousand 
dollars  there  in  gold." 

Miss  Dick  rose  to  her  feet,  and  made  as  though 
to  slip  once  more  into  the  darkness  of  the  cave.  But 
Rangy  rose  to  his  elbow,  and  by  the  mere  strength 
of  his  purpose  he  compelled  her  to  remain. 

"Talkin'  about  trumps,  little  girl,  you  shore  is 
the  most  wonderful  trump  that  ever  got  into  a  pack. 
Why  are  you  doing  this  for  me,  little  girl?" 

"Why  are  you  letting  me  get  away,  when  you 
might  keep  me  here?" 

"Is  that  the  only  reason,  girl?" 

"No,  it  shore  ain't,"  the  girl  mimicked,  and  Rangy 
fancied  that  back  of  her  mimicry  there  was  a  catch 


RANGY    PETE  389 

in  her  voice.  "I  am  doing  it  because  I  didn't  want 
you  to  think  too  badly  of  me,  Rangy,  after  I  am 
gone.  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  I  didn't  steal  it 
for  myself,  but  just  to  help  a  friend  of  mine.  You 
know  who.  Merrill  hasn't  played  the  game  with 
him,  and  when  I  heard  about  this  ten  thousand  — 
you  can  do  the  rest  —  Ike  is  coming.  We  must 
hurry,  Rangy  —  I  did  it  because  —  close  your  eyes, 
Rangy,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  other  reason." 

In  a  strange  whim  of  obedience,  as  though  the 
spell  of  the  girl  were  about  him,  Rangy  Pete  closed 
his  eyes.  It  was  wonderful  to  feel  thus  her  presence 
about  him.  It  was  almost  a  denial  to  the  threat  of 
farewell  that  he  should  now  sense  the  thrill  of  her 
form  hovering  above  him. 

Then  he  felt  the  swift  warmth  of  her  lips  upon 
his  fevered  forehead. 

Rangy  threw  out  his  arms  to  catch  her  in  his 
grasp,  but  when  his  arms  closed  again  there  was  no 
human  form  within  them.  He  opened  his  eyes,  only 
to  see  the  girl  standing  some  paces  from  him.  Rangy 
could  not  see  her  face  but  he  knew  that  the  eyes 
must  be  sparkling,  and  the  ripple  of  laughter  which 
reached  him  through  the  darkness  carried  with  it 
a  message  of  gladness. 

With  a  feverish  effort,  he  struggled  into  a  sitting 
posture.  But  Miss  Dick  was  vanishing  into  the 
darkness  of  the  inner  cave,  and  already  there  was 
the  rattling  sound  of  Ike  Collander's  return. 


390  RANGY    PETE 

"Come  back,  Little  Blue  Eyes!"  he  called  out, 
in  a  clear,  thin  voice,  "for  there's  something  I  got 
to  say  to  you,  and  I'll  be  waiting." 

Collander  stepped  forward  to  his  side  in  a  startled 
way. 

"What's  that  you're  saying,  Rangy?"  he  asked, 
in  a  worried  voice.  "You  think  you're  a-talking  to 
somebody?" 

"Was  I  talkin'?"  Rangy  asked,  with  but  little 
of  the  old  vitality  in  his  tones.  "You  mustn't  mind 
me,  Ike,  'cause  I  sometimes  get  queer  ideas  in  my 
head.  And,  Ike,  I'm  awful  glad  you  come." 

With  that,  Rangy  Pete  sank  back  upon  the 
improvised  bed  which  Miss  Dick  had  made  for  him, 
and  he  closed  his  eyes  as  though  in  yielding  to  the 
blackness  of  suffering.  Then  Collander  put  a  hand 
to  his  brow. 

"Fever.  Running  hot,"  he  pronounced.  "We 
shore  did  get  here  just  in  time.  He  couldn't  a  fought 
off  them  Merrill  buckos  much  longer  —  " 

But  Rangy  shifted  restlessly. 

"Fever,  nothing,"  he  declared,  though  with  a 
palpable  effort  to  keep  control  of  his  senses.  "Can't 
a  fellow  think  but  what  you've  gotta  call  it  fever. 
I  suppose  I  gotta  keep  my  eyes  open  now." 

Rangy's  eyes  did  remain  open,  staring  fixedly  into 
the  darkness  at  the  roof  of  the  cave,  and  while  they 
stared,  the  brain  back  of  them  was  recalling  the 
picture  of  Miss  Dick,  the  bandit,  who  had  entrusted 


RANGY    PETE  391 

to  his  care  some  ten  thousand  dollars  in  stolen  gold. 
But  she  had  not  stolen  it  for  herself!  For  a  tune 
the  thrill  of  that  almost  drove  the  fever  from  his 
blood. 

At  length,  after  long  staring  into  the  blackness, 
Rangy  nodded  his  head  sharply.  The  girl's  purpose 
was  clear,  though  the  motive  back  of  it  might  still 
be  shrouded  in  the  darkness  of  night. 

"Ike,"  he  called  suddenly,  still  with  that  struggling 
grip  upon  his  senses,  "Ring 'em  Foster  come  with 
you  —  is  Stipples  and  Dan  Merrill  there?" 

"They  wasn't  here  when  I  got  in  with  Ring 'em, 
or  we  mighta  had  a  real  scrap,  but  they  both,  come 
since.  They  was  riding  together  in  a  posse." 

Rangy  stared  again,  as  though  his  faculties  were 
laboring. 

"You  come  with  Ring'em?"  he  asked.  "How 
come  that  you  and  Ring'em  herded  up  together? 
You  mean  to  say  it  was  you  sloped  out  and  told 
Foster  what  was  going  on?" 

Collander's  simple  and  somewhat  shamed  nod 
was  the  only  answer. 

"Good  ole  Ike!"  Rangy  muttered.  "But  yore 
work  ain't  done  yet.  You  bring  them  three  persons 
up  here." 

Through  a  period  of  fevered  gripping  at  his  flitting 
senses,  Rangy  lay  back  and  struggled  with  this 
problem  before  him.  Miss  Dick  had  stolen,  and  yet 
she  had  not  stolen.  She  had  more  nearly  played  the 


392  RAMiY    PETE 

part  of  a  Robin  Hood.  Through  some  strange  cycle 
of  events  which  his  imagination  could  not  penetrate, 
Miss  Dick  and  Ring'em  Foster  must  fit  somewhere 
into  the  patchwork  of  the  past.  But  the  problem 
of  that  was  too  much  for  his  tortured  brain,  particu- 
larly when  it  brought  with  it  a  throb  of  pain  which 
almost  deadened  the  memory  of  that  warm  kiss  upon 
his  brow. 

Things,  at  the  best,  were  all  topsy-turvy.  The 
one  thing  of  which  he  could  be  certain  was  that  it 
was  the  girl  who  had  warned  Ring'em  Foster  many 
nights  ago  to  travel  to  Triple  Butte  and  collect  ten 
thousand  dollars  from  Dan  Merrill.  The  threads 
leading  up  to  that  did  not  matter.  The  money,  by 
the  application  of  all  moral  codes,  really  belonged  to 
Foster,  and  Miss  Dick  had  just  been  playing  the 
role  of  a  Robin  Hood. 

Playing  it  for  the  sake  of  Ring'em  Foster!  The 
thought  of  that  was  torment. 

Still,  she  had  helped  to  check  up  the  debt-dodging 
Dan  Merrill  and  now  that  was  the  sound  of  Merrill's 
querulous  voice  as  the  three  men  made  their  way 
up  the  face  of  the  cliff. 

There  was  the  tramping  of  feet,  the  mockery  of 
Merrill's  sneering  laughter;  and  when  Rangy  opened 
his  eyes,  the  three  men  stood  there,  in  the  shadows 
of  the  moonlight,  looking  down  upon  him.  In  the 
background  was  Ike  Collander,  looking  wistfully  at 
.Rangy  Pete,  and  with  a  huge  derringer  dangling  at 


RANGY    PETE  393 

his  right  hip.  Ike  was  bending  upon  Rangy  many 
reassuring  nods,  he  tapped  the  derringer  significantly. 

"Well,  Stipples,  you  got  him  at  last!"  Merrill 
barked  in  a  vicious  voice  whose  echoes  rumbled  and 
moaned  their  way  into  the  inner  caverns.  " Got  him., 
Stipples!  All  nicked  up,  as  he  should  be.  Now,  you 
highwayman,  don't  you  see  how  the  tables  can 
turn?" 

Rangy  Pete  blinked  up  through  the  shifting 
moonlight. 

"  Kinda  drag  me  out  to  the  edge  of  the  cave  where 
I  can  see  yore  faces  better,"  he  spoke  almost  tone- 
lessly.  "That's  all  right.  Now,  you  three  gents, 
set  back  there  in  a  row.  Stipples,  you  get  between 
them  two  mavericks  —  no  —  you'd  better  unlimber 
their  guns  — 

Merrill  broke  in  with  contemptuous  laughter. 

"What  horse  play  is  this?"  he  demanded.  "I'll 
line  up  for  nobody.  Stipples,  put  that  fool  under 
arrest,  and  we'll  drag  him  out  to  Triple  Butte." 

Though  it  cost  him  an  effort,  Rangy  forced  a  smile 
to  his  lips. 

"If  you're  taking  a  tip  from  me,  Merrill,"  he  spoke 
softly,  "you'll  be  kinda  hankering  in  about  a  minute 
or  two  for  Ring 'em  not  to  have  a  gun  in  his  fingers. 
Now  you  gonna  give  up  the  hardware  to  Stipples?" 

For  the  first  time,  it  seemed,  Merrill  sensed  some- 
thing dramatic  in  the  background.  Still  he  blustered 
violently  as  he  handed  his  weapons  to  Stipples. 


394  RANGY   PETE 

"I'm  here  to  get  you  for  finishing  off  Sonnes," 
he  threatened  ominously,  "but  it  don't  matter 
whether  it's  me  or  Stipples  who  arrests  you.  You 
finished  Sonnes,  'cause  Smithers  saw  you." 

"Is  that  right,  Rangy?"  Ring'em  Foster  spoke 
for  the  first  time.  His  voice  was  cool  and  deliberate, 
and  in  that  instant,  because  of  the  man's  calmness, 
Rangy  lost  some  of  his  wonder  at  the  seeming  peace 
between  Merrill  and  Foster. 

It  was  not  peace.  It  was,  instead,  the  reserve  of 
judgment. 

"Shore  thing,"  Rangy  agreed,  "and  when  you 
hear  about  it,  you'll  be  giving  me  a  medal." 

"You  see,"  Merrill  bellowed  his  interruption,  "he 
admits  it.  We'd  better  string  him  up  now,  Ring'em." 

Rangy  raised  his  hand,  and  Ike  Collander  stepped 
swiftly  to  his  side,  his  eyes  glaring  with  a  hardness 
rarely  seen  upon  his  flaccid  countenance. 

"That's  all  right,  Ike,"  Rangy  soothed.  "We 
ain't  here  to  talk  about  Sonnes.  Leastways,  not  till 
we've  finished  that  little  talk  what  Ring'em  and 
Dan  and  me  started  in  Tony  Burke's  back  room  a 
night  or  so  ago  —  don't  go  to  jerking  that  way,  Dan. 
Ring'em  ain't  got  any  guns  on  him.  You  remember, 
Dan,  you  didn't  know  anything  about  ten  thousand 
dollars  that  night,  what  somebody  wrote  Ring'em  to 
collect?" 

Merrill's  features  had  abruptly  lost  the  most  of 
their  arrogance.  The  man's  eyes  darted  swiftly  from 


RANGY   PETE  395 

side  to  side,  and  for  an  instant  they  looked  frantically 
out  into  the  moonlight,  as  though  he  were  considering 
the  wisdom  of  hurried  flight. 

"There  ain't  no  getting  away  from  here,  Dan," 
Rangy  went  on,  in  weaker  tones,  "  'cause  Ike's 
standing  over  you  with  a  derringer.  Now,  Stipples, 
you  just  go  to  looking  into  these  saddle  bags  — 

Stipples,  the  astounded,  did  as  instructed. 

When  the  yellow  coins  began  to  slither  out  into 
the  moonlight,  Merrill  reached  forward  with  animal 
swiftness.  But  Foster  stood  before  him. 

"Where  did  you  find  that,  Rangy?"  he  asked 
crisply. 

"In  a  box  of  'vaporated  apples  what  Dan  had 
shipped  in  from  the  East.  There's  ten  thousand 
there,  but  you  mustn't  do  anything  rough,  Ring'eirL 
'cause  Dan  ain't  done  anything  but  double  cross 
you,  same  as  he's  been  doing  with  everybody  else. 
You  can't  expect  him  to  be  paying  his  debts  when 
he's  been  saving  up  the  yellow  boys  like  this  to  skip 
the  country." 

Rangy  paused  because  of  the  ominous  calm  which 
settled  down  upon  them. 

In  that  instant,  Ring'em  Foster  reached  swiftly 
for  his  six-gun,  but  finding  only  the  empty  holster, 
he  dropped  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  disgust.  Then 
he  stepped  quickly  forward  and  looked  fairly  into 
Merrill's  shrinking  eyes. 

"Remember  what  I  told  you,  Merrill,"  Foster's 


396  RANGY    PETE 

voice  came  harsh  and  crisp.  "I  told  you  that  if  you 
were  trying  to  double-cross  me,  there  wouldn't  be 
enough  punchers  at  the  Snaky  Y  to  save  yore  hide. 
Now  —  what  you  got  to  say  for  yoreself?" 

Merrill's  only  answer  was  a  grasping  of  the  fingers 
towards  that  pile  of  glittering  gold. 

"It's  not  yours,"  Foster  spoke  with  firm  decision, 
"and   you'll    never  get   yore   hands   on   it   again. 
Stipples,  take  charge  of  it.   And  now  you,  Merrill  - 
what  have  you  to  say?" 

For  a  time  the  man  blustered;  then  he  attempted 
subterfuge. 

"Shore,  I'll  pay  it  all  to  you,  Foster,"  he  whined. 
"You  know  I  had  to  find  some  way  to  get  it  into  the 
country. " 

"To  double-cross  me,  you  mean,"  Foster's  tones 
had  become  deadly.  "Stipples,  give  us  back  our 
guns.  One  each  - 

"My  God,  no!"  Merrill's  thick  tones  had  become 
a  scream.  "  Not  that,  Foster.  I  ain't  in  shape.  You 
know  that.  I  been  drinking." 

Foster's  contemptuous  glance  held  him  through 
a  moment  of  fear. 

"I've  got  ten  thousand  more  back  at  the  Snaky  Y," 
Merrill's  shaky  voice  went  on,  "That'll  straighten 
up  everything,  Ring'em,  and  I'll  go  square.  Honest 
to  God,  I  will." 

Dark  purpose  came  into  Foster's  gaze. 

"The  guns,  Stipples!" 


RANGY    PETE  397 

Stipples,  whether  dominated  by  Foster's  command- 
ing manner,  or  through  sudden  contempt  for  Merrill, 
began  to  reach  out  the  guns  slowly,  one  towards  each 
man. 

Foster  reached  out  for  his  weapon,  but  Merrill, 
with  a  gurgling  in  his  throat,  struck  out  savagely 
and  knocked  his  own  gun  from  Stipples'  hand. 

"God,  Foster,  I'll  square  everything!"  he  pleaded 
in  a  thickened  voice.  "Not  that!" 

"We  know  you'll  square  everything,  one  way  or 
the  other,"  Foster's  tones  were  relentless.  "It's  this 
way,  Merrill,  gun  to  gun;  or,  it's  out  of  the  butte 
country  for  you,  and  out  of  it  forever.  Get  that? 
Stay  here  with  all  the  lead  I  can  put  into  you,  or 
out  you  go!" 

Merrill  swung  about  swiftly. 

"I'll  go,"  he  whined.  "I'll  go  tonight.  Let  me 
go  back  to  the  Snaky  Y.  I'll  turn  everything  over 
to  Stipples,  to  square  things." 

"You've  been  a  crook,  haven't  you,  Merrill!" 
Foster  demanded  unpityingly.  "You've  been  trying 
to  double  cross  everybody,  to  pile  up  a  nice  little 
fortune  to  skip  the  country  with.  Isn't  that  so?" 

Merrill's  blood-drained  features  became  suddenly 
suffused  with  passion.  He  struggled  for  words,  but 
they  would  not  come. 

"True  or  not  true?"  Foster  insisted  menacingly. 

"My  God,  man!"  Merrill  moaned.  "You  can't 
expect  me  to  say  that." 


398  RANGY    PETE 

Foster  edged  a  trifle  closer. 

"You  were  debt-dodging  and  piling  up  money 
to  skip,"  he_charged.  "True  or  not  true.  No  quibb- 
ling." 

Foster's  gaze  was  a  compelling  one.  It  was  hard 
and  cold  with  all  the  struggle  of  years,  and  now  it 
was  dominating  as  well. 

Abruptly  Merrill  swept  a  hand  before  his  face  as 
though  fearing  a  blow. 

"It's  true,"  he  gulped,  "but  I'll  square  everything. 
Honest  to  Heaven,  I  will,  Ring 'em." 

"You  bet  you  will,"  Foster  pronounced  grimly. 
"And  then  what  will  you  do?" 

Merrill  cringed  abjectly,  in  sudden  haste  to  oblige. 

"I'll  get  out  of  the  country." 

Ring'em  Foster  nodded  sharply. 

"It'd  be  a  whole  lot  better  if  you'd  shoot  it  out 
with  me,"  he  returned  peevishly.  "It  might  save 
some  other  gent  the  trouble  of  perforating  you. 
All  right,  Stipples.  Gather  up  that  yellow  stuff. 
If  he  won't  be  shot,  we  gotta  put  up  with  it  and 
escort  him  over  the  state  line.  March,  pronto,  you 
gents.  We'll  get  out  of  here." 

Through  the  routine  of  departure,  Ring'em  Foster 
went  to  stand  for  a  moment  over  the  improvised 
couch  of  Rangy  Pete.  The  latter's  eyes,  ho  could 
see,  were  dull,  and  there  was  the  flush  of  fever  upon 
his  cheeks.  Rangy  moved  restlessly,  and  made  as 
though  to  speak,  but  Foster  waved  him  into  silence. 


RANGY    PETE  399 

"It's  all  right,  Rangy,  whatever  it  is,"  he  said. 
"You  shore  done  a  good  day's  work,  and  we  ain't 
gonna  forget  it." 

Rangy 's  eyes  drifted  towards  the  blackness  of  the 
cave;  he  tried  again  to  speak,  then  suddenly  he  sank 
back  into  the  vague  land  of  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AFTER  an  eternal  period  of  burning  torment  and 
fantastic  visions  through  which  his  brain  seemed 
never  to  rest,  Rangy  opened  his  eyes  weakly  and 
stared  listlessly  about  him.  The  scene  was  a  strange 
one,  but  nothing  really  mattered  anyway..  There 
were  drab  shadows  all  about,  which  appeared  lo 
have  no  part  in  the  life  he  had  always  lived,  and 
there  was  a  man  sitting  in  front  of  him,  with  back 
turned,  and  working  at  something  which  Rangy 
could  not  see. 

Something  remotely  familiar  about  that  back 
appealed  to  Rangy's  dulled  brain  and  held  the  weak 
gaze  of  his  eyes.  It  didn't  matter;  still  he  would  like 
to  know  what  that  person  was  doing  there. 

Rangy  shifted  in  his  position  and  was  about  to 
speak,  when  the  man  suddenly  turned  upon  him. 

"Jumpin*  Jericho!"  that  individual  exclaimed 
gladly.  "You  really  got  yore  peepers  open  again, 
Rangy?  I  been  wonderin*  if  you  was  ever  going  to 
consent  to  look  on  this  wicked  world  again.  Hnv's 
something  for  you  to  drink.  A  friend  of  vorcs 
brought  it." 

Ike  Collander  placed  something  to  his  lips,  and 
Rangy  promptly  dozed  into  slumber  again;  but  this 

400 


RANGY    PETE  401 

time  it  was  sleep  without  those  tormenting  visions. 

When  he  wakened  again,  his  brain  was  much 
clearer  and  his  limbs  felt  less  leaden.  The  fingers  of 
his  memory  began  to  toy  with  the  past,  and  there 
was  a  vague  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  all  things 
were  not  exactly  as  he  would  have  them.  There 
was  this  cave  and  Ike  Collander  —  patient  Ike 
Collander,  whose  services  hi  a  time  of  need  were  a 
pleasing  thing;  but,  there  was  something  lacking. 

In  time  his  memory  pieced  together  those  ragged 
patches  of  the  past,  and  he  knew  just  where  the  story 
of  his  life  had  broken. 

"Ike,  how  long  have  I  been  here?"  he  asked  at 
length. 

"It's  five  days  since  you  turned  yore  nose  to  the 
wall  and  wouldn't  recognize  anybody,"  Collander 
informed,  with  a  sort  of  motherish  hovering  about 
him,  "But  you're  right  now  as  a  grass-fed  maverick 
and  in  about  ten  days  we'll  be  hitting  it  back  for 
Triple  Butte." 

"Where's  the  rest  of  the  army,  and  what's  hap- 
pened?" Rangy  insisted. 

"Nothing  happened,"  Collander  chuckled,  "though 
Ring 'em  did  have  kind  of  a  hard  time  to  keep  them 
Snaky  Y  buckos  from  stringing  up  Dan  Merrill, 
when  they  heard  he'd  been  planning  to  skip  out 
and  leave  them  all  howling  for  their  wages.  But 
nothing  happened.  They  went  through  the  Pass 
together,  the  Snaky  Y  and  the  Triangle  0  and  the 


402  RANGY    PETE 

Double  K,  and  they  mooched  around  a  couple  of 
days  looking  for  Dervishers." 

"And  they  didn't  find  a  single  Dervisher?"  Rangy 
asked  anxiously.  "Shore  you  ain't  lying  to  me, 
Ike?" 

"Honest  to  goodness,  they  didn't  find  so  much 
as  hide  or  hair  of  a  lone  Dervisher,"  Collander 
informed  hurriedly,  "but  you  should  see  the  way 
them  Snaky  Y  boys  knuckle  to  Ring'em.  They 
ain't  no  good  without  a  leader." 

Rangy  leaned  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Miss 
Dick,  it  became  obvious,  was  completely  able  to 
look  after  herself.  Yet,  in  doing  that,  it  left  a  sort 
of  aching  void  about  the  heart. 

"Jumbo  Irish  is  coming  back  in  about  a  week  or 
ten  days  with  a  couple  of  cay  uses  to  pack  you  out," 
Collander  went  on.  "They  left  us  a  lot  of  grub,  and 
now  you've  got  nothing  to  do  but  pick  up  and  get 
to  feeling  yoreself  again." 

Ike  Collander  broke  off  abruptly,  and  instead  of 
returning  to  that  unknown  task  of  his,  he  stood 
looking  down  upon  Rangy  Pete  in  a  curious  way. 

"You're  a  funny  one,  Rangy,"  he  blurted  out  at 
last.  "Who  is  the  lady?" 

"What  lady?"  Rangy's  question  was  almost  an 
explosion  of  sound.  "Don't  stand  there,  Ike,  trying 
to  be  mysterious,  but  go  on  and  tell  me." 

Ike  considered  a  moment,  as  though  attempting 
to  find  the  proper  lead. 


RANGY    PETE  403 

"The  lady  what  comes  to  see  you  each  night  just 
at  dusk,"  he  informed  in  the  end.  "It's  queer.  Just 
like  one  of  them  romances  what  I  seen  once  on  the 
stage.  She  conies  outa  the  dark  of  this  cave  every 
night,  sits  with  you  for  an  hour,  gets  some  things 
to  eat  offen  me,  and  then  she  goes  back  again  — 

"Is  she  coming  tonight,  Ike?"  Rangy  demanded 
excitedly.  .  1 

"I  dunno.  She  said  to  me  once  that  she'd  come 
as  long  as  you're  unconscious." 

"Then,  Ike,  I'm  gonna  be  unconscious  tonight, 
dead  to  the  world;  and  don't  you  dare  tell  her  any- 
thing different.  And  when  you  see  her  coming,  you 
smooch  it  outa  the  way." 

Rangy 's  fever  ran  high  all  through  that  afternoon, 
and  as  he  tried  to  count  the  minutes  it  seemed  to 
him  that  time  never  before  had  dragged  along  on 
such  leaden  feet.  There  was  an  insistent  demand 
that  Miss  Dick  should  come,  and  that  demand  was 
leavened  by  the  constant  fear  that  she  would  not. 
There  was  the  danger  that  she  might  know  of  his 
returning  consciousness,  that  she  may  have  heard 
Ike  Collander  talking  to  him;  there  were  menaces 
which,  in  the  mind  of  a  sick  man,  will  become 
warped  and  magnified  until  in  the  end  the  whole 
world  seems  distorted. 

Through  the  dragging  hours,  Rangy  Pete  waited 
with  what  patience  he  could,  and  when  at  length 
the  fading  light  of  the  sun  permitted  a  grayness  to 


404  RANGY    PETE 

creep  into  the  blue  of  that  thin  patch  of  skyline 
showing  beyond  the  lip  of  the  cave,  his  doubts  grew 
more  at  ease,  and  he  began  to  picture  just  what  Miss 
Dick  would  look  like  when  she  crept  out  of  the 
darkness  of  the  cave  and  came  to  sit  by  his  side. 

It  was  by  an  effort  of  the  will  alone  that  he  was 
able  to  close  his  eyes;  but  shortly  he  found  that  it 
was  more  restful  to  practice  thus  the  feigning  of 
unconsciousness. 

Yet  it  was  in  one  of  those  moments  that  the  girl 
came  to  him,  so  that  in  the  end  he  did  not  see  her 
stealing  out  of  the  darkness.  The  first  he  knew  of 
her  presence  was  the  light  touch  of  her  fingers  upon 
bis  forehead.  Those  fingers  were  cool,  and  soft  and 
mothering,  and  their  faintest  touch  was  a  caress 
through  which  he  fancied  he  could  read  all  manner 
of  glad  tidings.  He  was  wondering  if  that  possessive- 
ness  in  the  girl's  touch  were  but  his  sick  imagining; 
then  he  heard  her  voice,  pitched  low,  yet  touched 
with  rebuke. 

"His  fever  is  higher  tonight.  What  have  you  been 
doing  to  him,  Ike?" 

"Nothing,  Miss,"  Collander  evaded.  "He  seemed 
to  be  tossing  about  a  bit  tliis  afternoon,  and  that 
makes  me  think  he'll  soon  be  coming  to." 

"You  sure,  Ike,  you  haven't  been  trying  to  feed 
him  something  he  shouldn't  have,  or  something  like 
that?" 

"Nary  a  thing,  Miss,"  Ike  protested,  then  shortly 


RANGY    PETE  405 

he  rose  and  found  some  excuse  to  slip  down  over 
the  mouth  of  the  cave  to  the  ground  below. 

With  Miss  Dick  so  near  him,  with  her  mothering 
fingers  gently  stroking  the  fever  from  his  brow,  and 
with  the  faint  little  crooning  of  a  song  upon  her  lips, 
Rangy  found  this  assumed  pose  of  unconsciousness 
a  difficult  thing  to  maintain.  He  wondered  that  she 
did  not  hear  the  fevered  beating  of  his  heart.  Then 
shortly  he  wondered  if  it  were  fair  to  take  advantage 
of  her  in  this  manner.  He  wondered  so  long  that  at 
length  one  eye  slipped  open  just  a  trifle  and  he 
peered  through  the  twilight  at  the  girl's  face. 

The  acuteness  of  his  gaze  must  have  carried  its 
own  message  to  the  girl's  senses,  for  shortly  the  song 
died  upon  her  lips  and  she  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

There  was  such  anxiety  in  her  attitude  that  Rangy 
found  his  pose  an  objectionable  thing.  So  he  opened 
his  eyes  wide  and  stared  up  into  her  face. 

Miss  Dick  gave  a  little  cry  which  was  all  gladness. 

"Ike,"  she  called.  "Here  you,  Ike  (Hollander. 
Come  here  at  once.  He's  awake." 

Rangy  grinned  to  the  limit  of  his  capacity,  though 
he  felt  it  was  an  absurd  thing  to  do. 

"They's  no  use  calling  Ike,"  he  declared,  "for 
I've  been  awake  all  afternoon,  and  he  knows  it. 
I  told  him  to  smooch  it  outa  the  way,  'cause  there's 
something  I  want  to  say  to  you,  little  Blue 
Eyes." 

"Then  you've  been  fooling  me  by  pretending  to 


406  RANGY    PETE 

be  unconscious?"  the  girl  demanded,  with  a  faint 
suggestion  of  hauteur. 

But  Rangy's  eyes  held  a  pleading  message  aimed 
to  destroy  the  aloofness  of  any  feminine  dignity. 

"Yes,  little  girl,  'cause  I  knew  I  could  never  get 
along  without  you.  I  knew  nothing  would  ever  be 
the  same  again  if  you  didn't  come  tonight,  and  since 
I  been  feeling  yore  fingers  on  my  forehead,  little 
Blue  Eyes,  I  know  I  ain't  never  going  to  lose  you 
again." 

There  was  much  more  of  it;  there  were  so  many 
gentle  words  falling  from  Rangy's  lips,  that  at 
length  the  girl's  eyes  grew  softer  and  deeper  from 
their  peering  into  the  future,  and  when  she  leaned 
just  a  trifle  closer,  the  man's  arms  raised  and  clasped 
about  her  neck.  For  a  very  short  space  of  time, 
Miss  Dick  resisted  the  pressure  of  his  arms,  then 
slowly,  gently,  she  yielded  to  then'  caress. 

"But  how  can  you  ask  me  to  marry  you,  Rangy? " 
she  asked,  some  time  later,  while  the  sparkle  was 
still  showing  in  her  eyes.  "How  can  you,  when  you 
know  I  am  just  a  bandit,  and  when  you  know 
nothing  more  about  me?" 

"There  is  nothing  more  I  want  to  know,  little 
Blue  Eyes,  except  that  you  are  you.  You  got  a 
right  to  be  a  bandit  if  you  wanta  fye  one." 

"But  you  were  going  to  teach  me  something  about 
the  code  of  man,"  the  girl  reminded,  with  the  glad- 
ness of  laughter  upon  her  lips. 


RANGY    PETE  407 

"The  code  of  man?"  Rangy  wondered.  "Say, 
Blue  Eyes,  the  code  of  man  what  I  was  a  gonna 
teach  to  you  ain't  nothin',  compared  to  the  code  of 
woman  what  you've  taught  me.  If  you  was  brought 
up  a  bandit,  you  shore  have  been  a  square  one." 

"Yes,  Rangy,  I  was  brought  up  a  bandit,"  the 
girl  broke  in,  with  reflective  tones  in  her  voice  which 
seemed  to  say  there  were  new  phases  of  life  just 
opening  before  her.  "Dervisher  Dick  is  my  daddy, 
and  I  have  never  known  anything  else  but  living 
in  the  hills.  I  never  knew  until  lately  that  it  was 
really  wrong  to  live  as  the  Dervishers  live;  but  a 
little  while  ago  a  man  came  along  and  taught  me 
some  of  the  new  things  of  life  which  I  never  knew 
before,  and  now  you  - 

"Another  man?"  Rangy  demanded,  with  a  pain 
in  his  voice  which  no  woman  could  ever  have  mis- 
taken. "You  don't  mean,  Blue  Eyes,  that  there's 
another  man  —  ' 

"Another  man  taught  me^the  first  things  I  ever 
knew  about  right  and  wrong,  "k  the  girl  whispered 
"He  came  into  the  hills,  and  I  met  him  by  chance. 
He  was  so  nice  and  kind,  and  I  owe  him  an  awful 
lot- 

A  slight  groan  slipped  from  Rangy 's  lips. 

"Please,  don't,"  he  muttered.  "I  don't  think  I 
can  stand  it  —  ' 

"I  think  you  can,"  the  girl  went  on,  "for  you 
know  him,  Rangy.  And  you,  too,  owe  something  to 


408  RANGY    PETE 

him.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  man's  name.  He  is 
Ring'em  Foster.  You  remember  how  his  punchers 
got  me  out  of  the  Burke  saloon  that  night  when 
I  was  foolish  and  wanted  to  see  something  of 
life." 

The  sick  man's  eyes  had  become  pained,  like  those 
of  a  wounded  animal,  and  yet  they  looked  up  into 
her  face  firmly  with  a  rebellious  faith. 

"And  you  love  Ring'em?"  he  whispered  wistfully. 

Miss  Dick  laughed  in  a  curious  way. 

"Love  him?  Why  no!  I  think  of  him  as  another 
daddy;  he  was  so  kind  to  me  - 

The  balance  of  the  sentence  was  quite  smothered 
in  the  folds  of  Rangy's  arms,  and  this  time  there 
was  not  even  the  faintest  suggestion  of  resistance 
in  the  girl's  manner. 

"Funny,  ain't  it?"  Rangy  laughed  gladly,  after 
a  few  delirious  minutes  had  raced  away,  "that  I'm 
gonna  take  you  back  to  Triple  Butte,  after  all?" 

"And  that  you  are  going  to  teach  to  me  the  code 
of  man?"  the  girl  whispered.  "But  is  there  no 
danger  for  you,  from  the  Snaky  Y?" 

Rangy  Pete  was  too  glad  to  see  in  the  future  any- 
thing but  the  rose  of  promise. 

"Danger?"  he  laughed.  "They're  eating  out  of 
Ring'em's  hand,  and  I'm  thinking,  when  they  know 
all  about  it,  you  can  have  most  anything  you  want 
around  Triple  Butte.  But  we  won't  bother  with 
the  Butte.  We'll  get  a  little  ranch  of  our  own." 


RANGY    PETE  409 

"Where  you  can  teach  me  that  code,"  the  girl 
interrupted  laughingly. 

"There  ain't  anything  to  teach  you,"  Rangy 
returned  somewhat  humbly,  "for  there'd  have  to 
be  a  whole  lot  more  in  that  code  than  I  ever  knew 
of  for  it  to  be  big  enough  to  hold  a  patch  to  the  code 
of  woman.  Now,  Blue  Eyes,  let's  take  a  peek  into 
the  future." 

"You  are  tired  now,  Rangy  Boy.  Tomorrow,  if 
you  are  good,  we  will  talk  and  we  will  plan  for  the 
days  when  you  are  strong  again." 

The  man  sank  back,  weary  from  the  joy  of  it  all, 
while  the  girl  leaned  above  him  once  more,  her  lips 
forming  the  crooning  words  of  that  melody  of  love 
which  is  as  old  as  life  itself. 


THE   END 


OOQ 


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